


Darkness Of My Day

by hiimraen



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Don't ask me why, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea, M/M, Makeup Sex, Not-so-of-a-caffeine addiction, This thing went slightly insane, bad day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiimraen/pseuds/hiimraen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik had a bad day. Charles was there to help him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first try at this ~~kink~~ writing fandom! And what a shame that it took me like 5 years after mastering the Internet to actually find one, but hey, true love is not the easiest one to find. Anyway this was actually done for a [kink!meme prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/6084.html?thread=7670980#t7670980) and I hated the new comment system on LJ so I thought, 'You know what? Fuck plans to post on AO3 _after_ I'm done, I'm gonna 'done' it _on_ AO3!' and so here I am, beta-ed the damn story myself and all that.
> 
> So, tl;dr - Erik had a series of bad events happening to him in a day and concern!Charles helped him through it (in a way) and makeup!sex at the end is always an option!
> 
> So anyway, if you actually went and read at the original prompt place, you would have noticed that I made a major rehauling of the 2 part - the breakfast scene. Truth be told, I don't give a F, so you shouldn't too. Haha.

 

 

Any human – male, female, young, old – would be so flustered whenever they are faced with feelings; reading too deep into it and weighing far too much choices, outcomes, and alternatives that they are swayed from their earlier goals. Very common, very _human_.

 

  
But not Erik Lensherr. No, he is most definitely not human.

 

  
So, when he was standing in his room, after a particularly splendid night spent drinking with Charles at a local bar about a mile away from the Xavier’s mansion (their land is huge, the town was practically on the border of their land, and yet the mansion is just so far away), he knew he was doing himself a rather disservice by engulfing his awareness on his feeling: spirited away, not at home, unease… 

 

  
He knew his room; small (compared to all the other rooms, of course), but his, entirely (or so said by Charles the owner). The window that overlook the patch of land filled with water that is a little too small to be a lake yet too big to be called a hole filled with water. The ceiling so high that Erik is sure three Eriks stacked up on each others’ shoulders still can’t reach it. The bed was made the way Erik had always loved it (the way his mother had made his bed, though he is entirely sure that is just how maids were trained to do the beds, but then again he never actually saw any maids in that mansion). 

 

  
If anyone was to feel how the way the air in that room felt so dense, it would be no one but Erik himself – the (rightfully) owner of the room. 

 

  
He was feeling entirely unease at the way the air hung above, behind, beneath, all over him. It was like this was all a dream and Erik had nowhere to go but to be held suspended, floating yet feet glued to the ground, not moving, not willing to move at all.

 

 

Erik looked around the room. He was sure that he had already rumpled the bed sheet when he had came back home – briefly after he had dumped Charles back to his room, undressing him and reasoning to himself that he was inhaling more air than needed because of the alcohol, _damn it_ , not the sight of almost-naked Charles in front of him, happy, inebriated, and helpless to anything anyone would have thought of doing to him.

 

  
He was pretty sure he had somehow managed to knock down the antique vase - like every other decorations in that mansion - in his attempt to bolt to his bed and sleep despite his still hard member. Yet, somehow he is currently standing in his room, completely sober, the vase never moved an inch from where he had seen it since the first time he stepped into that room, and the bed looking very recently made, the sheet tucked to perfection and pillow fluffed. 

 

  
Erik decided that nothing about this room he is in is his. So he turned and walked out of the room.

 

  
If anything was to be said about the feeling he felt the moment he stepped out of the room, that person has at least 328 different ways of dying, the majority of them is a slow and painstakingly painful death. In the hand of one Erik Lensherr – who is now standing with his eyes so wide, mouth hanging open, and body suddenly shudders – with fear. 

 

 

 _Fear._ Something he had not felt after the moment he had escaped from the grasp of Doctor Schmidt. 

 

  
In front of him was a straight hallway, both side of the wall filled with simple, white doors, alternating from left to right, left to right. Erik knew this hallway. Despite the experiments and tests and probing and all, Erik remembered this hallway, like how he had it engrained in his head after his few weeks at the camp. 

 

 

Shaking himself, with more force to put a halt at the shuddering (though Erik wouldn’t admit this, ever), Erik braced himself and started walking forward. He could still remember the smell of the hallway from memory: filled with alcohol and blood and tears and fear. He could even remember the number assigned to each door, number not only representing the inhabitant beyond the door, but also spelled all over their left wrists.

 

 

On Erik’s left wrist. 

 

  
His right hand moved unconsciously to his left wrist, tracing, spelling the number branded there, not once leaving his eyes nor his legs from prying forward. The hallway seemed to be an endless one – Erik almost stopped himself, when suddenly he came to a T-junction.

 

  
If his memories serves him right (and he knew they always do), a left turn would bring him to a communal lounge, where prisoners – they really are; they are not some campers in some stupid summer camp trying to prove to anyone that they are special from the rest of the crowd – were allowed communication with each other, to mingle and socialize with each other, lest they want to spend the day alone.

 

  
The right turn, on the other hand, will bring him directly to… 

 

 

The rooms here are all isolated. Same like all the other rooms, but here the special kids – _mutants_ – that were assigned were those with more special powers – destructive in a sense. Erik remembered one mind-controller who had a metal collar around his neck all the time, there’s an energy emitter that shoots beams of light from his fingers and there’s another one with lycanthropy.

 

 

The one and only room Erik knew and still know that matter in the whole camp is room 214782. It is a room that meant that the experiments had ended, that he was not to be tested, probed, angered upon in the name of harnessing his power… No. Room 214872 is Erik’s haven in that Hell hole. 

 

  
But what Erik expected to see is not what he was seeing. There, instead of a plain, brown wooden door made out of the hardest and most robust wood Erik had ever known (all those knives and forks and anything metal he’d thrown at the door had made not a single scratch at all) was now a door Erik will soon enough familiarized with chess, scotch, and one man.

 

  
 _Charles Xavier_.

 

  
It was the door to Charles’s room. It is his study really, but Charles is evidently never out of the room – even within a 24 hours time frame - so everybody started calling it his room, knocking and asking permissions before coming in, although the room was meant to be a free land for all to trample upon. 

 

  
Erik didn’t know how or when, but the moment he felt his palm touched the cold doorknob, rough on the edges with the ornaments encasing the knob, he knew he was at the door, in for whatever surprises the room might have in store for him. 

 

  
He will never admit this, but even now, he hoped that he will meet Charles, and what he would give just to have that hope comes true. 

 

  
Letting out a harsh breath he’s been holding, Erik twisted the doorknob, pushing the door ever so slowly. He cast his eyes low, looking,  _watching_  from the carpet all the way up to the wall, with what the small gap of the door allowed him to. It seemed –  _felt_  familiar, just like how he remembered the room to be.

 

  
He pushed the door open wider, allowing himself to enter the room with less doubt. The room was empty, save for two glasses – one empty while the other one contains a half drunk drink Erik is not sure what, but might as well be a Scotch. The table where the glasses were flanked by two couches, seemingly odd to Erik, as he was sure the colour is tad bit off from the couches in Charles’ study – and he had only seen it once, last night, before they went to the bar. 

 

  
He pointedly ignored this for the fact that the room was barren from everything else. Not a single book, or desk, or heck, not even the huge glass wall (it occupies the whole wall, so it is rather justified to call is a glass wall rather than a window) that overlook the driveway to the mansion was not in this room.

 

  
“Well, well, look who we have here”.

 

  
Erik is sure if that line was spoken by anybody else, he would have snorted. Or probably barked back a very snarky remark about their eyesight and about how unlikely it is that there are two Erik Lensherr except if Raven took up his identity for some really unimaginable reason. Or Erik can pointedly ignore it for good, not even giving it the smallest space in his brain, thinking that it would probably burn out few of his nerve cells that he rather spent on something important, or maybe even Charles.

 

  
But no, not this voice. Erik knew this voice, have heard it long enough, that regardless of the tone, the accents, the volume, or even the noise that accompanied it, Erik can tell just who the hell was talking. Even after all these years being separated, running across the globe looking for the owner of the said voice.

 

  
No, Erik knows the voice all too well. This voice was the same voice that had crushed his very life. This voice was the voice that had said far too many things to Erik, many of which made Erik whimpered with fear and on very few occasion mad with rage far too large for his little body.

 

  
Erik knows the voice of Klaus Schmidt.

 

  
Erik turned his body entirely to his immediate right, keeping his demeanor calm but his mind reaching for all the metals he was sure he can find in that large yet barren room. To his chagrin, he couldn’t feel anything.

 

  
In front of him, Schmidt was seating behind the very same table when Erik was first sent to meet him. Both of his hands were resting on his elbow, fingers linked together in front of his mouth, both of his indexes worrying his bottom lip. He was even wearing the same clothing, Erik noticed somehow. Erik even saw the same piece of chocolate just next to his left elbow, resting on top of the table, waiting to be indulged.

 

  
Erik raised his gaze from the chocolate to meet Schmidt straight in his eyes. 

 

  
“Chocolate, Erik?” Schmidt asked once he was satisfied that Erik is now giving him his full attention. 

 

  
Erik winced at the question, furrowing his brows into a frown. “What are you doing here?” Erik sneered, not really wanting to know why or even how Schmidt was here, in  _his_  dream none the less.

 

  
Erik had dreamt about many things - he would admit that, from nightmares to losing his mother to the first time when his power first manifested, even to the few memories of his family that his subconscious mind let him indulged in, but not this. He had never dreamed about talking to Schmidt, not like this anyway. It had always been little Erik, not this man he had grown into.

 

  
Erik heard a chuckle, and as quickly, and calmly, as he could, he turned his gaze a little to Schmidt’s right, and was sure that his heart was getting all worked up for nothing, for from the lurk of shadows, came out Sebastian Shaw.

 

  
Yet another proves that his body was reacting very much like a human.

 

  
Erik was now very sure that this is a very bad,  _bad_ dream. He knew from the moment he was standing upright in his stuffy room that he was in a dream, but then again Charles mansion was huge and way too many glasses of drinks can really do wonders to the senses – not that Erik was any light drinker.

 

  
But he was for sure know that this is a bad dream as there can never be two of the same people, even if the said person wear two different names and entirely different wardrobe, for Erik knows that Klaus Schmidt and Sebastian Shaw are really the very same man.

 

  
So dream was the only reasoning he can come up with as to why the two men was in front of him, looking very much nothing alike, but essentially the same person. Now it was Erik turn to chuckle, and he shook his head in disbelief.

 

  
Shaw bent down, placing one of his hands at the back of Schmidt’s chair while placing the other flat on the table. “My, my, Schmidt. I didn’t know we actually damaged him to this level. Look at him,” Shaw explained, clearly amused. 

 

  
Schmidt smirked pointedly at Erik, who was still shaking his head, although the chuckling had stopped to a halt at Shaw’s words. “I know, we have clearly created a  _monster_.”

 

 

 _Erik_ …

 

 

Erik’s rage grew exponentially from here. He can’t really remember at which point of their nonsense talk, but he lost it somewhere. He began throwing himself towards the two people; screaming “I’m going to kill you” and “You’re a dead man” over and over again, while throwing his hands around, punching and clawing at both men. 

 

  
If it is possible, Erik even thought that he was starting to become… younger,  _weaker_ in a sense, as his hands weren’t delivering the punches as powerful as he would have liked it.

 

  
To worsen things, all the time Erik was lashing out, both Klaus and Schmidt weren’t the little bit moved, not even amused by it. They were just laughing, not even bothering to dodge any of the punches that were thrown at them.

 

 

 _Erik._   


_  
_

_Erik, wake up_

 _  
_

Erik moved from throwing punches to strangling. He caught Schmidt, who was, really, still fully seated even after Erik’s (so-called) tantrum. He was so mad, that he quite literally can kill that man, and he is in every bit of him trying to make a point of it, even if it was just a dream.

 

  
Schmidt was a little surprised by Erik’s turn-of-event, but showed nothing much of fear about it. Instead, he reached up his own hands to Erik’s and tugged the hands in his throat, struggling while urging Erik, “Tighter, my boy”. Erik was more than happy to comply, tightening his grips that even his knuckles starting to lose its colors.

 

  
“ _Comfortable_  enough?” mocked Erik, while throwing a side glances to Shaw who was watching the whole scene with a rather interested face, not once concerned about his ‘other half’.

 

 

 _Erik!_

 

  
At that very moment, Erik heard something, someone, calling his name.

 

 

He is not sure, but he is pretty convinced it sounded something like Alex. That can’t be it, because  _nobody_  dared to enter his room, even in broad day light, saved for Raven and Charles: the former who introduced Erik to his room and the latter who was there for reasons Erik himself can’t fathomed. 

 

  
There is a stream of light coming from his side, although he knows it is impossible as that room had no windows. The light was so strong it obscured his vision from Schmidt, who was still wrapped up warmly around his hands at his throat. Erik can still feels Schmidt’s fingers clawing at his hands, wanting desperately for Erik to let go…

 

 

 _Erik! Let go of him!_   
__

_  
_

_Erik open your damn eyes your strangling Charles damnit!_   
__

 

“Charles!” Erik practically screamed and pushed back Schmidt – no, Charles, it was Charles, oh my Lord, what have I done – from his grip, bringing the heels of his hands to his eyes to block the sun that was shining far too brightly for an early morning.

 

  
Charles fell on the floor, all too ungracefully, but never once been more grateful than to be able to breathe once again. Still gasping for breathes, Charles let one of his hands soothes his throats, while the other one was placed firmly at his back, balancing his body so he was not lying entirely on the floor.

 

  
Erik looked apologetically at Charles, opening his mouth to voice his uttermost regret, when suddenly a hand punched his face, throwing him off his balance and landed hardly on the soft bed. “Alex!” screamed Charles, who struggled to his feet at once and shook the boy rather forcefully at his shoulder.

 

  
Erik glared at Alex. So it  _was_  his voice. “He tried to kill you,” Alex said, not once losing his chance at winning the glaring battle with Erik. Neither was Erik. “I would not do such thing” Erik voiced his denial.

 

  
“Of course, you did not just choked Charles.”

 

  
“That was none of _your_ concern!”

 

  
“The hell it was…”

 

  
“The two of you,  _shut up_! I’m okay, I am just fine, thank you for asking!” shouted Charles over the heated arguments. He was now heaving, but all for another reason entirely. Both Erik and Alex were staring at him, eyes wide, and had positively shut up. 

 

  
Charles held him gaze, not once letting it down, afraid that if he let it down the two of them will begin again anew. Alex, probably the one who was not that too comfortable with this new found peace, even for the slightest bit, opened his mouth, arguing, “Professor…” 

 

  
Charles only respond to that was to huff loudly. He was still yet to get use to that name, and try hard to not to think about the event that inevitably co-exist with the team’s unfortunate naming skills. “I’m okay, Alex, I really am”, Charles said, gesturing with his hands that Alex better let the matter go.

 

 

Knowing Alex, he probably wouldn’t. 

 

  
“I think you better go to kitchen and see to the breakfast that we were discussing earlier. I am sure Raven or Sean might help out with your idea. Erik and I will join you in the kitchen later,” and Charles looked away from Alex to Erik, the other man was still on the bed, with his cheek starting to blue from the punch it received seconds earlier, “I do believe Erik and I will have to discuss, the um, whatever that it was”.

 

  
Alex glanced from Charles to Erik, before standing up straight and looked back at Charles, failing an attempt at smiling, before moving out of the room ever so slowly. As he did, Erik rose from his bed, not even once removing his glare from the retreating figure of Alex until the door clicked shut. He let out a breathe that he never knew he was holding. 

 

  
“Erik, I…” Charles started, but stopped abruptly as if not knowing what to say. 

 

  
“I had a dream”, Erik offered, even though he was pretty sure that that conclusion was made ages ago, the moment he moved his hands to…  _Oh God_ , Erik can’t think about it. He was strangling Charles. He felt like strangling himself to death for doing something so stupid.

 

  
“God, no  _Erik_ , please don’t kill yourself for nothing”, Charles reprimanded. Charles was a man of word; he had promised Erik that he would not read his mind without permission, so Erik must’ve been projecting his thoughts. 

 

  
“It was not nothing Charles. If I – If Alex hadn’t tried to stop me, I could have – I could have…” Erik stuttered, bringing his hand to his forehead, bowing his head. He dared not thinking about what he could have done. Almost immediately, Charles went to his side, clearly haven’t learned anything valuable from his near-death experience that happened no less than  _5 minutes_  ago. Charles let one of his arm snaked through Erik’s back, making a rather soothing circles at his back, while the other went straight to his chin, forcing Erik to look up.

 

  
“Erik, look at me”, pleaded Charles

 

  
Erik did, and he could not believe what he saw. Charles’ face was flushed, probably from his own shouting, but Erik knew for sure that it was most probably from having his oxygen supply cut off by him. Charles’ eyes were wide, so wide that the whites of his eyes were losing it space to that brilliant blue of his irises. Erik moved from his eyes to his devilish red lips, one glistened with saliva, that Erik was more than sure was due to Charles licking his lips. 

 

  
A simple gesture, yet made into an obscene act by one Charles Xavier.

 

  
Erik most definitely wanted to close the distance between them. But before he could make any decision – one that will get him away from this man, whose body was a sin – Charles frowned at him. “Erik?” and Charles positioned himself in front of Erik, bringing both his hands to Erik’s shoulder, causing Erik’s breathing hitched. Clearly Charles had misread his bodily respond, for Charles tried again, frowning even more. 

 

  
“Erik, are you okay? I assure you, I am fine you don’t need to worry.” A pause, “ _Erik_?” 

 

  
God, sometimes Erik wonders if Charles ever stopped babbling about nonsense. Erik looked up from Charles’ sinuous lips (he can’t find to detach his eyes from them) and looked up to meet Charles gaze. His hands were feeling rather useless at his sides, so he decided to mirror Charles and placed them securely at Charles narrow waist. Erik tried a small, wry smile “I’m fine Charles. I’m fine”. 

 

  
Charles beamed at his reply, almost as if proud of Erik – although Erik knew Charles would have died knowing what exactly Erik had managed to pry his eyes from just seconds ago. “Alright, then”, Charles said, all smile and chirpy. “I think we should get going to the kitchen. I would rather like to keep the kitchen intact despite Alex’s craving for an American style breakfast”. 

 

  
Erik frowned at this. “Alex can cook?” he asked. 

 

  
Charles must have picked up on Erik’s real concern behind the question, when his smile suddenly died and his pretty, pretty face was replaced almost instantly with a shocked expression, “All the more reason to get moving.  _Now_."

 

  
Erik, holding his ground, and his hands at Charles’ sides even though Charles was ready to move, he said slowly and rather seriously, “I am sorry Charles. From earlier. I – I didn’t mean it. It was a dream. A  _dream_ , Charles, God, you have to believe me.” 

 

  
Charles turned back to face Erik, placing his hand over Erik’s and bringing the other to cup one of Erik cheek. “Erik, it’s okay, really, I’m fine, look at me. Erik, I’m fine”, Charles replied, all the while not once losing the shine in his eyes, trusting and believing in Erik, always trusting and believing Erik. 

 

  
Erik’s reserve on not closing the distance within them where wearing really,  _really_ thin.

 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Erik had always known that peace was never an option. It was impractical and too sound to ever be real and commence-able; something just ought to get wrong somewhere. Erik figured this one out during one very particular morning after he was separated from both his parents, promised that he would be left at peace with both his parents if he agreed to help out the Doctor.

 

  
Which, of course, didn’t just turned out to be a lie; his father was dead the moment he was inside the building, and his mother was shot in front of him over a stupid coin.

 

 

A coin that he had kept till this very day.

 

  
A coin that  _he_  will use to kill _Herr Doktor_. 

 

  
So, by now, Erik was resigned to the fact that peace was never an option; should it be one, it is the very last of the latter effort that he will have to take, after practically using up all of his other options – although, Erik is sure that peace would hardly bring him any of the result that he would have hoped.

 

  
Erik told Charles that even if it was too hot outside for a decent jog - one that he hadn't had the chance to do for quite some time, thanks to their recent mutant recruiting trip – Erik decided to take a bath, and Charles insisted that he had a “soothing one, to calm your mind” – even if Erik had not a single idea as to what a soothing bath was supposed to be.

 

  
That was approximately 10 minutes ago. He’s still in the bathroom, though. That is not  _that_  bizarre. 

 

  
What startled Erik more than the fact that he is at  _peace_ , standing in his bathroom, a shaving blade floating effortlessly in the air, making clear cut at his throat, is that the peace came from the very man that he had dreamily tried to kill some minutes ago. Not that he did that on purpose, mind you.

 

  
Behind the closed door of the toilet, Erik must have been projecting his worries about the event and more on the outcome of the said event –  _friendship be damned, monstrosity, cruel, you will be left alone again_  – for the moment the door was closed, sealing away the distance between him and Charles, he almost immediately felt Charles presence lingering about in his mind, as if asking for permission to enter Erik’s mind.

 

  
Erik found Charles telepathic abilities to be, if one might say so,  _mesmerizing_ , if not astonishing the very least. There were boundless possibilities as to just what Charles was capable of, not to mention the useful tricks that came along with the abilities. Erik’s own ability was amusing (even Charles thought so), but Charles’ was in another level all together, at least for Erik, himself.

 

  
So Erik opened up his mind, making himself more than available for Charles’ ability to prod into (a trick Charles had taught him after the night they had found Angel, wasted and thoroughly intoxicated, to which Charles later regretted for it was meant to be a secret known only by Charles and Raven. Well, secret be damned, especially when a telepath is around).

 

  
Erik heard more than felt Charles’ thought, strong enough that if Erik closed his eyes, he would be totally fooled, believing that Charles was actually inside the toilet, tip-toeing beside him to whisper rather loudly (and  _lewdly_ , Erik had to confess) on his ear. Not that Erik would have anything against that (or the latter thought, not at all).

 

  
Charles was projecting his own thought, scrambling from  _I already knew it was a dream, don’t worry I’ve forgiven you the moment you let me go, Erik I am alright don’t worry about me, Honestly I am more worried about my_ kitchen – Erik later found himself agreeing about the kitchen part, although the rest were agreed upon, unsaid. 

 

 

After powering through his morning hygiene routine – and one bath that Erik find the slightest bit soothing, all thanks to Charles suggestion over the telepathic line ( _lavender, Erik, now that’s a good chap_ ) – Erik was rather dumbstruck when he walked out of the toilet clad in nothing, save for the damped towel Erik was using to dry the hair at the back of his head, which had conveniently draped itself on Erik’s front, covering his rather naked body a little on the _important_ parts of his body, so to speak.

 

 

In his bed was Charles – lying with his back pressed snugly to the headdress, legs crossed on the bed with shoes neatly placed at the bottom of the bed. A person who might have entered the room, a person who is not Erik, or their little band of mutants, would definitely thought that Charles was, in fact, lounging on  _his own bed_  reading some tacky recreational leaflets about Argentina. 

 

  
Charles, being the very proper and man with manners, had refrained from saying anything at all. Instead Charles had gasped, escaping from his lips rather unintentionally, and finally closed his mouth forcefully when he was openly gaping at Erik.

 

  
Erik hadn’t flinched, or struggled to cover himself up. Nope, Erik is a man who believed in taking actions, as if the world was yours and he had nothing against a little encouragement  _and_ intimidation to get just what he want. So, Erik stood there, the hand wrapped in his towel went perfectly still, eyes wide as he locked them on Charles, who was fully clothed, yet who was flushing as if  _he_  was the one caught naked. Erik observed as Charles scrambled up onto his feet, almost too fast for his own reflexes, and pointedly tried to not  _stare_  at Erik's state by instead staring at the window.

 

  
The window, obviously, was wearing Erik's reflection, even with the Sun glaring from the outside. 

 

  
Erik chuckled, totally amused by both Charles’ presence and his reaction to Erik’s rather ill-moral state. Erik had totally ignored the fact that they were both in  _his room_ , for God’s sake.

 

  
“I thought you were worried sick about your kitchen”, Erik had to asked, when he was done and over with amusing with Charles reaction, now moving to his closet, and had the manner to at least wrapped the towel around his naked waist, even if it was done in a very loose knot.

 

  
Charles flushed even more, his ears turning to a very visible shade of red. Erik figured his face must be even worse, but had nothing to tell when Charles refused to turn, still boring his back to Erik. “I – uh – I thought I would – I would”, Charles stammered, before burying his face into his palms, grunting. This would be the first time Erik seen this side of Charles, stuttering with lack of confidence, trying his very best not to make a joke out of himself. Erik likes this Charles, he is very _endearing_ , Erik decided.

 

  
“You would what?” Erik supplied, as he picked up one sweat bottom from his closet, and slipped it on, completely ignoring any underwear, almost intentionally, if not out of habit. Erik couldn’t helped but smiled when Charles turned around at Erik once Erik projected his success in not being too naked, and Charles had returned the smile at Erik, all too dopey and childish, face still tinged with hints of red.

 

 

“Nothing. Really, I was just wondering if I could at least accompany you to the kitchen, knowing that you are a little bit at, um, a little bit unease”, replied Charles once he had overcome whatever reaction he had prior due to Erik. Erik most definitely did not felt proud of himself for that.  _Almost_ _,_.

 

  
“Right, like I was the one who was worried about four other young, untrained and completely uncontrollable mutants, probably wrecking  _havoc_  in the kitchen - no puns intended, at an attempt for a decent breakfast”, Erik said, as he dumped his towel at the bed, and moved to the door, all the while struggling to get his sweat shirt on. It wasn’t really a cold day, particularly since he had a rather warm (and a little bit soothing) bath a few seconds ago, so he had decided that he had needed to wear something else from his usual turtleneck. 

 

  
Charles – as if taking that as a cue, had put on his shoes and went straight out of the room, waiting for Erik outside the room. Gracefully, Erik followed and closed the door behind him, making no effort at locking the door as the door was never locked to begin with, despite the fact that he can lock and unlock the door with just a twitch of his wrist.

 

 

The kitchen wasn’t that far away from Erik’s bedroom. In a more normal and economic house, Erik would say that the distance between his bedroom and the kitchen is somewhat analogically the same as the distance between 4 houses, spread along the road, with each houses owning a little piece of land in between to plant random shrubs and probably a dead body, or two. All the way to the kitchen, Charles had agreed to explain to Erik what was happening in the real world while Erik was in his dreamland, even without Erik requesting for any.

 

  
It turned out to be Erik wasn’t just dreaming, he was also caught “making, well, _obscene_ sounds, one that Alex knew sounded so wrong, especially coming from you, my friend”. Charles was walking with Alex from the boy’s room that morning, discussing about Charles’ training plan for Alex, when Alex heard those ‘obscene sounds’ from Erik’s bedroom 

 

  
(“He actually used ‘moaning’. _’Moaning’_. Clearly the time spent at the prison had totally rubbed off some rather unwarranted morals on Alex”, Charles complained). 

 

  
“And you’re mind, well, I promised not to read it but then again you were projecting random thoughts, not, you know, the normal dreams that you had,” as they turn to descend the stairs. That was when Charles finally figured out that Erik wasn’t concentrating on his power, but was actually having a nightmare. “It just feels weird, you don’t really – you know – concentrate on anything in particular, and your memories were all jumbled up like it was working on a loop. It was definitely gruesome and tiring, I must say so”.

 

  
Since Erik had never bothered locking the door, Charles and Alex had barged in straight into his room. Charles said that the first thing they saw was how Erik was so  _still_ , not moving, as if his body was unaware of the dream he was entertaining in his mind. Alex was afraid that Erik had died in his sleep. Charles tried to communicate telepathically with Erik, but apparently with their proximity, Erik’s projection was a little bit too loud for Charles to actually communicate anything to Erik without ever being intrusive.

 

  
After that failed attempt by Charles, they tried everything else. Opening up the blinds (Alex’s idea), shouting Erik’s name (Alex’s idea, but Charles joined in, so), and finally shaking Erik forcefully by the shoulder (Charles’, apparently the shouting idea seems to be a tad bit stupid and childish). That was the moment when Erik hands jumped to life and...

 

  
Erik decided that the rest of the story was a history, which was fortunate as he and Charles had finally reached the door to the kitchen, which was closed, but never locked, something that Erik now finds rather convenient and also practical enough for his standard. If it is up to his decision, there shall be no freaking door to  _every single room_  that is not a bedroom or a bathroom. Erik moved his hand to grasp the doorknob, when Charles hands snatched his, mid-air, and Charles made a barely audible shushing sound, moving his index finger to be pressed forcefully on his lips.

 

  
Erik tried to make a sound of disapproval when suddenly the door to the kitchen flung open so forcefully, it would have hit Charles flat in his face, if Erik hadn’t pulled him back by his shoulder. A blue arm flung from the inside, and Raven was almost out of the door when suddenly the arm went flung back inside, apparently being pulled by someone, as Raven yelled “What the hell are you doing?” sounding very much like she would snapped the wrist of whoever that dragged her back into the kitchen.

 

  
From inside the kitchen, there were some hushed arguments, with Erik’s name being thrown into the argument a few times. Erik couldn’t make out the arguments properly, so he had squeezed his hand that was still resting on Charles’ shoulder, opening up his mind to Charles. 

 

  
 _Let me listen too, Charles_.

 

  
Erik was more than sure that Charles was already eavesdropping. Thankfully, Charles didn’t argue much; instead he let Erik hears whatever that he is hearing. Apparently Charles had taken refuge in Sean’s mind, which was completely unaware about Charles’, and inevitably Erik’s presence in his head

 

  
“You said that Erik choked Charles, that he was trying to  _kill him_ , yet you left Charles in Erik’s room, how stupid can you get, Alex!” Raven argued. 

 

  
Charles flinched, and Erik blanched.

 

  
“I told you”, Alex replied, sounding like he had had this argument one too many time, “Charles said that he was alright,  _he_  insisted that I came down, and Erik was already - ”

 

  
“Erik was up, yes, but he was the one who was so eager to cut out Charles oxygen supplies, if you haven’t realize”, Raven cut off Alex, and Charles can clearly see her rolling her eyes.

 

  
Erik decided that he had enough. He didn’t  _try_  to kill Charles, heck, he wouldn’t even do as much as  _pinch_  Charles with intentions of hurting him, so he was not well disposed on taking blame for something he didn’t really do on purpose. Erik straightens up, and pushed the door opened, startling not only the kitchen’s inhabitants, but also Charles, who quickly stood up straight and severed the telepathic connection between Erik and him rather hastily.

 

  
The air in the kitchen felt somewhat familiar to the air he had felt in his dream. It was heavy, dense, and somehow the air alone seemed enough to  _kill_ , what with the murderous look that Raven shot at him. 

 

  
“Morning”, Erik greeted them, nodding at Raven – who was blue, particularly, before moving straight to the kitchen counter next to the sink. Charles moved straight to the table, and had pecked Raven on her cheek, who was sitting at the head of the table, with a plate full of pancakes and hash browns and omelets and sliced fruits in front of her. 

 

  
Hank was sitting at her side, looking anxiously from Charles to Erik, before settling to stare at his empty plate. Alex was standing in the space between Raven and Hank, arms bracing both the headrest of the chairs. Sean was at leaning at the fridge, one arm crossed while the other was nursing a glass of milk. 

 

  
Charles greeted the rest of them, before moving to stand to sit at the other end of the table, clearly a seat that he had never dreamed of sitting – simply because he was thinking about the head of the table and then there’s Raven. A rather mad Raven, none the less.

 

  
“How was your morning, Charles?” Raven asked, struggling to keep herself in-check, and it was ultimately Charles’ choice to ignore the tone she was speaking with. Charles tried to keep his stare as chilling and angry as possible, but clearly one angry Raven is not as scary as a trying Charles. As politely as possible – while still implementing the idea of anger and hurt - he cast his eyes towards Erik, who had abandoned whatever it is that he was doing to watch the two siblings over his shoulder, hunched over the tabletop. Erik’s stare was deadly, if not slightly mad.

 

 

Raven let out a loud sigh, her mind going on a loop _come on come on tell me already come on_ and Charles had nothing really to tell the whole world save for what happened after Alex had left, and that wasn’t much either. Charles lets his shoulder slumped a little bit in a feat of defeat before turning to face Raven, smiling a little. 

 

  
“Nothing much. The same morning I always have. Although I must say it sort of weird waking up in my old room, won’t you say so, Raven dear?”

 

  
Raven reply came in a sort of half grunt, half chuckle. She poked the plate of cut fruits in front of her, each stab like a stab best put upon somewhere else, _someone_ else. Charles shuddered at the thought. Raven glanced over her shoulder to look across the kitchen towards Erik. She was still looking at Erik when she said “I bet”.

 

 

Alex snorted and ignored the growing debacle by eating the readied breakfast – it was his idea to begin with. Hank, who probably had had enough of this whole thing simply slapped both of his hands to his face, half cradling it and let his shoulder slumped even more. Sean simply sat quite, acting the very best at being nonchalant.

 

 

Charles took a deep breath, “And I assure you that is a good bet. Now, what’s for breakfast?” It was an attempt to change the subject – a subject that both Charles and Erik (the two that really matters, anyway) had come to an agreement – as there was none to discuss about, especially not with Raven. But, well, Raven is no Charles, and letting go something like this was never an option with her.

 

 

It is kind of warranted though. Charles still remembered that one time when he was still in Oxford, still studying, when he had come back home with a bruising body. Raven had tried to ask Charles about it, but Charles was torn to tell his little sister that he had got beaten up simply because he told this one guy he was attracted to him, sexually of course, and the guy simply took it upon himself to beat the sense into Charles, in a more literal way. When Raven finally found out what happened – it took her only 4 hours of pouting and grunting and ignoring Charles before the truth was out – she had disguised herself as Charles and beaten up the other guy. At least back then the guy was a total stranger and hadn’t been living with them.

 

 

But this is _Erik_ , and Erik _lives_ with them, now out of all, with the war that is waging on between America and Russia and mutants. No, Charles is not going to let Raven beat _any_ sense into Erik (or himself), being it literally or metaphorically.

 

 

So, when Raven finally snapped at Charles effort to let the issue drop – and they hadn’t even addressed the said issue properly, even – crying “For god sake – are you kidding me?!” Charles stared across the table, looking dead-on to Raven’s piercing yellow eyes and told her to “Drop it, Raven”.

 

 

“No! I’m not dropping it. He almost killed you and - ”

 

 

“Almost, Raven, almost, and I’m perfectly fine - ”

 

 

“Oh, come on! That’s only the first time, Charles, you know it you said yourself - ”

 

 

“What I said then and what I know now are - ”

 

 

“They are the same, Charles”

 

 

“I am standing here”, Erik pitched in, hovering over the other two somewhere in the middle of the long table, holding two cups of steaming coffee, when he had managed to get there was beyond Charles, “and I do believe you two are snapping at each other about me. Not that I am flattered or anything”, Erik finished as he grinned with too much teeth.

 

 

Both Raven and Charles were standing; both their chairs had been knocked back by their rather sudden outburst, both of them were leaning on the table with their hands splayed across it – an aggressive pose, Erik had to admit. Charles was still panting a little bit when Raven took it upon herself the quiet as an invitation, clawing for her chair before settling back, her new mission to finish up her plate of fruits.

 

 

Charles let out a sigh and apologized to no one in particular and gave Erik a half-smile, one that thins out his red lips – now even redder thanks to the outflow of blood to his head – and sat rather gingerly, dragging his sleeves in preparation for the breakfast.

 

 

Erik then smiled to himself, feeling the tinniest bit of smugness as he had proven to himself that he is capable of solving a simple sibling’s conflict – at least to him it was _simple_ and it is a sibling’s _conflict_.

 

 

Erik pulled out the chair at the other end of the table, the one nearer to Charles’ end although not directly besides him. He was about to sit when Raven straightened up and threw a pointed finger towards him.

 

 

“Nah ah, I don’t care what Charles sees in you, but I am not going to have breakfast on the same table as you the morning you tried to choke my brother”, a pause, and Raven was looking the very bit of angry, before she continued ”For whatever reasons that you can come up with”.

 

 

Erik winced. First of all, well, he was not that inclined to have breakfast with any of them either, he would rather spend the day doing more productive works, besides, what’s one meal compared to a chance at killing the very man he had craved dead since he was practically a child? Second of all, he did not ‘try’ to kill Charles. God, he thought they already got that part of the whole story across, but no, they had to stick to that. He was sleeping for crying out loud, not like he was fully awake and had nothing better to do than choke Charles for the joy of killing time! Third of all, if Raven doesn’t want him here, well, there’s little to be said to that.

 

 

So, Erik simply passed both the coffee cups he was holding to a rather gobsmacked Charles, and slammed the chair back to its place, causing the table to rattle. All except Raven flinched; more proves that Erik is so not going to spend some quality time with her. He was already half way across the kitchen towards the backdoor when he heard Charles called out his name.

 

 

“Charles, stop it’s for your own good!” exclaimed Raven. Erik snorted, as if she’s the telepath in this freaking mansion.

 

 

Clearly Charles was not going to lose this time, he was going to fight for Erik’s right to at least have a descend breakfast before he went out to his business, for Charles was practically shouting (though he insisted that he was simply ‘raising his voice’, to which Erik said was a total wordplay) for Raven to shut up and telling her that “it is not your bloody business Raven”.

 

 

Erik didn’t dare to sneak a look at Raven, but he is pretty sure that she was furiously mad at both of them; Erik for hurting Charles (unintentionally), and Charles for being stupid and naïve. Though Erik had to agree that Charles is being utterly stupid by ignoring Raven’s concern, especially when it does had a strong base argument.

 

 

Erik is indeed a dangerous man.

 

 

He was already at the door when a chair was pushed away harshly, the chair stumbled to the floor with a bang, and there are footsteps approaching fast – more like running, really – and Charles was suddenly gasping as if caught by surprise or something. Erik’s guess was that Raven took it upon herself to physically restrain her brother from dying in Erik’s hand, despite Erik doubt of ever capable of doing so.

 

 

By the time Erik was out of the door, Charles and Raven were having a heated whispered conversation, Hank and Alex were both staring at those two, and Sean was in his way of finishing everything that is left untouched, and by the look of it, that is _everything_ that is on the table.

 

 

Erik closed the door and locked it. To perhaps ensure that Charles won’t be stupid enough to be looking for him, he melted the latch and sealed it in a way that is impossible for anyone save for Erik to use the door like how it meant to be, except if Alex or Sean or Raven decided that they can open the door, even if that means that the door is no longer a door.

 

 

Erik took a moment and leant against the door. He had a really bad day, and it is only nearing _midday_. He woken up to strangling Charles while previously humiliated himself in front of Charles _and_ Alex, and Alex had punched him square on the jaw. His jaw is still stinging, though he is more than thankful that he had avoided too many conversations. Now Raven is set to kill him, and Erik had no idea as to how far Raven is keen on making that idea a reality.

 

 

The door behind him rattled, someone’s trying to open the door, and that someone turned out to be Charles who was calling for him even from the other side of the door.

 

 

“Erik open the damn door I know you’re outside I can _feel_ you, Erik. Come on Erik, open up”, and there’s more rattling and banging on the wooden door.

 

  


Erik took a deep breath and started to walk away, ignoring the calls – both in his ears and mind – all the way trying to seal himself up, so that hopefully Charles won’t find him.     

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Flashback Interlude

 

**********

 

  
 _Stupid, wobbly, no-good truck!_

 _  
_

  
The truck wobbled again, hard - there’s probably a rock or something - though Erik have to admit that the thought of the possibilities that the truck might have just ran over something random on the road – something random like a squirrel or maybe a cat, even possibly the mayor of the town. Erik can really tell by the wobbling alone that they had hit a big rock, and had made him realized that they are now off the road – although Erik isn’t quite sure yet just where this off-road exactly is. 

 

  
The truck, although big enough to carry just the six of them, somehow managed to be as packed as it is comfortable to be sitting in it for hours (Erik had lost count of the hours - though he is quite sure they had went passed the 5 hours mark). Erik can tell that the kids were really tired and worn out after the attack - forcing them to stay awake, constantly reminded about the death of innocent people and the betrayal of their new found friend. 

 

  
Erik, on the other hand, had no problem staying awake - constantly being on guard when the truck wobbled or stopped unwarranted. He had almost shot a kid with a bolt from the flap door when a ball miraculously jumped into the truck and landed on Erik’s laps when they were stopping for gasoline.

 

  
(Erik did no such thing of course. He was holding the ball arms away from his face, studying and wondering  _what_  it really was – it could’ve been a very well disguised bomb – when Charles’ hand caught his wrist. Erik tore his eyes away from the ball, and Charles simply smiled and nodded towards the door, where a blonde boy was looking at Erik, both amused and scared at the same time.

 

  
Charles reminded Erik not to smile. Erik did, anyway, simply wanting to know the reaction from the boy. The boy didn’t cry – not instantly at least.) 

 

  
The boys, huddled in front of Erik, were all leaning into Hank, the tallest one and who had conveniently settled in the middle, with Alex to his right and Sean to his left, all of them fast asleep. Sean was leaning into Hank’s shoulder, his chin getting acquainted with his collar bone, legs propped up on the seat and hands hugging his body, with the little warming effect that pose can manifest. Alex, on the other hand… 

 

  
Well, let’s just say that Erik is sure Alex would rather  _die_  than admit that he was cuddling with Hank, what with Alex hugging Hank’s arm and was sitting entirely on Hank’s lap. 

 

  
But who is Erik to comment on all that, when beside him Charles was doing practically the same thing, if not more dignified. Erik sat the nearest to the flimsy flap door, ready for anything (balls flying into the truck included). Beside him was Charles, who was thankfully fast asleep. 

 

  
(After the incident at Russia, Charles hadn’t managed to even close his eyes, always eyeing Emma, who was still hand-cuffed, although had the grace to corporate nonetheless. It was even worst when Moira mentioned to them about the incident back at the Facility. Charles pleaded to Erik even, to will the plane to move faster, simply because “you’re the  _goddamn_  metal bender, Erik, of course you can!”)

 

  
It was an hour or so after the ball incident and after Raven, who was sitting beside Charles, had fallen asleep, embraced tightly by Charles, when weariness finally hit Charles. He was dozing off, head bobbing to the truck’s jerks and wobbles. His hands went limped and with Raven on his side pinning him and making him slightly uncomfortable, Charles had no other choices than to scoot closer towards Erik, who evidently was not bothering with the whole personal space issue, not now at least.

 

  
The truck became colder, if only marginally. Erik saw it in the way the boys huddled in closer and Alex burying his face further into Hank’s shoulder. Charles, whose hands were still loosely hugging Raven, stirred, pulled out his hands from their current positions, and turned towards Erik. That wasn’t enough to fight off the cold, Erik noted, as Charles dragged his legs up until he was in a fetus position, and grabbed at Erik’s leather jacket, and laid his head on top of Erik’s chest. 

 

 

Erik, who honestly wasn’t quite used to being treated as a human furnace (or even being in a position like this one, if he was to be honest), doesn’t really mind it all since it was  _Charles Xavier_  (and that, coming from Erik, could've explained everything about almost anything) and it was getting colder (although just a little bit), and even the boys had felt the change in temperature.

 

  
So Erik simply slowed down his breathing (that wasn’t getting erratic or anything, no) and tried to not heave his chest too much, if it would help even the slightest. Charles, oblivious to these things, buried his face even further into Erik’s chest, as if seeking for more heat, although Erik is sure he will definitely feel warmer if he just stayed there for another minute or so. 

 

  
And that is how, two hours later, Erik was still in the same position. Apparently Erik had been promoted from a simple ‘human furnace’ to a ‘bolster-warmer-blanket hybrid’. Charles hands were still clutching Erik’s jacket, rather reverently, not wanting to lose it’s only hold of something that doesn’t move without warning in that truck. Charles’ legs had moved until they were half on top of Erik’s lap, with the rest on the little space of Charles’ seat. His back was plastered to Raven’s, who had awaken some minutes ago and had since pointedly ignoring his brother who was cuddling with another guy (dangerous and murderous one at that), instead to look outside via a small plastic window on the truck’s side.

 

  
Charles’ head bumped along with the rhythm of the truck and Erik couldn’t helped but smiled when Charles rubbed his head on Erik’s chest, sighing as if satisfied that Erik’s chest was probably the most comfortable place he could have put his head on in that truck. Erik’s left arm, which had conveniently found his way to Charles’ waist and since never left, squeezed Charles’ waist, and Charles moves minutely closer to Erik, even if it was impossible for them to get any closer or Charles would end up sitting entirely on Erik’s lap and Erik would have to cradle Charles. 

 

  
Not that Erik would have anything to complain to that. 

 

  
Erik was so deep in his own thought (read:  _Charles_ ) he’d almost missed the sound of Raven drawing out a long sigh – sounding far too happy and relieved to be otherwise - when she suddenly twisted her upper body and almost instantly Erik felt a warm hand clasped down on top of his own, the one that was resting on Charles’ waist. 

 

  
Raven must have noticed that it was not Charles’ hand (Erik’s hands were rougher and they were worn with calluses and scars, Charles’ hands were so soft and feather-like, so unlike his) and she stared down onto the hand that was beneath her before muttering an amused apology. She tried again, this time aiming for Charles’ shoulder, instead. Erik couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes wondered briefly on his before focusing them on Charles.

 

  
“Charles, wake up! We’re here!” Raven’s voice with filled with far more excitement than her eyes. 

 

  
Erik, who still had not even the slightest clue as to where ‘here’ really is (he should have just outright asked her), was about to argue to Raven that she should have left her brother alone, as he was definitely tired and Erik really don’t like to have anything to do with one tired and sleep-deprived Charles (Erik had the opportunity to know that Charles, once, and had  _vowed_  since to never disturb Charles when he was sleeping. _Ever_ ).

 

  
But then, under his hand, Erik felt Charles twisting his body and his head had moved up along Erik’s chest towards the crook of his neck. Erik felt Charles breathe in, and a long, warm breath ghosted over the skin under his jaw that wasn’t covered up by his turtleneck, before Erik felt Charles stilled underneath him. Charles’ hands finally released Erik’s jacket and attempted to smoothen out the creases they had created. The hands moved for a bit, before stopping and stay flatten on Erik’s chest. 

 

  
“Oh”, was the only thing Erik heard.

 

  
This was promptly filled with a lingering silence, save for the occasional snores that escaped from Sean. Raven must be so determined to let Charles knew their current location, for he could felt Charles _rocking_  underneath him - like he was shaken by an  _earthquake_ , far worse than the wobbling of the truck.

 

  
“Charles! We’re here! We’re  _home_.”

 

  
“ _Oh!_ ” This time Charles sounded more surprised than the earlier one, and it sounded so honest. He pushed himself up, hands still flat on Erik’s chest, leveling himself to Erik’s eyes. The eyes, Erik noticed, were tinged with red, probably due to fatigue, but, like always, Charles’ irises gleamed with a light that made Erik, at that very moment, thought about the moon – a really bright, full moon with red skies. Or cloud, it wouldn’t really matter. 

 

  
“Hello”, Charles whispered, sounding far too smooth for someone who had just woken up. Erik only reply was to nod his head, a little. One of the hands on Erik’s chest moved and plucked Raven’s away, and Charles smiled enthusiastically before turning to face one very excited Raven

 

  
“Are you sure, Raven?” questioned Charles, struggling a little bit for his balance when the truck wobbled again. Raven nodded enthusiastically, her long, blonde hair adding the dramatic effect to the simple reaction. Charles hold Raven an arm length away by her shoulders, studying her face with a very ridiculous smile on his face, before tugging Raven forward for a hug, both of them laughing and gasping, the sounds mashing into one. 

 

  
To Erik’s amusement, the little display – or Raven’s wake up call, for that matter - didn’t even registered to the boys. Heck, even the bumpy ride was comfortable enough for them that Hank and Sean had both slept the moment they hopped into the truck. Raven was still hugging Charles when her face changed from happy to a sudden realization.

 

  
“ _Wait_ , Charles. The key!” She abruptly pushed herself away from the hug to look straight at Charles. Charles, who was looking a bit shocked, came to realization what she was really talking about. “Right, keys” and Charles brought his hands to his temple, face still plastered with smile.

 

  
Erik suddenly remembered that: a) Charles was a telepath, b) he was not quite sure the extent of Charles’ power while sleeping and c) he was rather thinking loudly – back then when Charles was asleep and even now and he should really  _stop_.

 

  
Either Charles wasn’t aware about Erik’s own realization or he was simply ignoring Erik – though Erik was hoping for the latter one, for no apparent reason – Charles hadn’t said anything to that, instead using his free arm to brace himself as the truck slowed down to a stop. He let go of the other arm that was on Raven’s shoulder, and began moving forward to the flap door. Instinctively - and out of habit of doing so in their recruitment trip – Erik opened the flap door with one of his arm, the other went straight to Charles back, even as the smaller man his head back towards Raven. 

 

  
“Stay here, and see to waking up the others”.

 

  
Raven pressed her lips thinly, as if not too excited about left alone – not after what had happened the last time she was left alone – and nodded towards Charles and then to Erik. 

 

  
Both men climbed down from the truck, and Erik felt his legs going a little weak at the knees, thanks to the long journey. He straightened up almost immediately, suddenly becoming aware of the surroundings.

 

  
Underneath their feet and spread ahead of them was a pathway, covered mostly with white and black gravels, stretching so far that Erik couldn’t really tell where the end – or the start – of the pathway. Both sides were flanked by rows of trees and somewhere further up, he could see a patch of land covered with patches of grass and possibly greeneries. 

 

  
Beside him, Charles was breathing in rather heavily, probably in need for the fresh air surrounding them, lips stretching until he was grinning, beaming with joy and happiness. Charles looked up to the skies, letting the warmth of the sun basked on his pale skin, eyes closing as if truly satisfied. 

 

  
Erik was suddenly out of breathe, instantly masking his face with indifference, a favourite poker face he had worn for almost any awkward occasion, this one none the difference.

 

  
Charles, much to Erik's own amusement to ever admitting it, is a very fascinating man. 

 

  
Charles turned his head slightly at Erik direction, and opened his eyes all too slowly – at a somewhat agonizing speed. He was still smiling, even more when he saw Erik, and turned his body all the way towards Erik. “Let’s go”, Charles said, as he walked forwards. Erik, clearly not the telepath, simply followed from behind, looking as lost as he permitted himself to ever look like.

 

  
“Where are we going, exactly?” They were now turning to the right, a small path leading towards the trees that saw few patches of wild grasses growing, probably from lack of use. Erik wasn’t quite comfortable with forest, especially one where he’d known nothing of. 

 

  
Charles, as if sensing Erik’s displeasure, looked back from his shoulder, offering a coy smile, “You’ll see”. 

 

  
Erik most definitely didn’t rolled his eyes to that; the last time he had heard that Charles had made Erik stand in the middle of the rain somewhere in Manhattan, drenched to the bones, dumped there, thanks to the mutation (teleportation, really  _groovy_ ) of one of their failed recruitment trip. Charles, the  _minx_ , at least was gratefully transported to a bar somewhere in Brooklyn albeit the bar was filled with burly and hairy guys and dirty hookers. Along with the teleportation guy. 

 

  
They walked another few yards, the trees blocking Erik’s view, before the walls of trees suddenly broke into a house; colours worn out by time. It took Erik a few seconds before realizing that the house was rather small for the six of them – seven, if Moira was to be included – for them to stay there and practice, like what they had planned. 

 

  
Charles came to a halt and spun on his heels, hands locked together at his back. Apparently Erik was projecting his thought – he had yet to perfect that blocking skill that Charles had taught him – because Charles was smiling knowingly, as if he had just figured out Erik’s ugliest secret – though Erik is sure Charles already did - especially when he told Erik that he had known everything about Erik.

 

  
“First of all, no, I don’t know your ugliest secret and thrilled as I might, I’m not going to dig it out,” Charles’ smile widening as Erik grunted – a form of approval of some sort.

 

  
“Second of all, again, no, this is not a  _house_ , Erik,” the word rolled at this tongue like it was a sour lime, and Charles rolled his blue eyes. “This is my playhouse. And Raven’s, of course, but it was built for me, so it is justified to call it mine and not being all too possessive about it”. 

 

  
Erik’s eyebrow shot up high to that, clearly amazed at the revelation of the house –  _playhouse_ , as Charles had kindly clarified – and though he was definitely impressed by the size of such thing – Erik have heard of playroom, but a  _playhouse_? Not so – he couldn’t quite say that he hadn’t seen anything of that sort elsewhere.

 

  
There was a moment of silence, Erik waiting for Charles to continue, and clearly Charles meant to continue – his did this thing with his face whenever he had something to say, be it a remark or comment or even an afterthought, but held back simply because he deemed it to be immoral to do otherwise – so Erik pressed on, hoping that Charles would continue.

 

  
“Is there any  _third_ , Charles?” Erik’s voice doing the best it could to break the silence, only to be swallowed down by the eerie silence of the surrounding trees (really, it is more like forest than just  _trees_ ).

 

  
“Well - ” Charles seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyes scanning everywhere but Erik’s, before finally settled for a simple no. Erik frowned then, not at the dismissal of the topic, but rather at the purpose of him following Charles into the wood and discovering Charles’ rather huge playhouse – it is still huge, even after adding Raven to the house and all the toys that house must have stored – and had voiced his thought very much so.

 

 

Charles took that question in and began moving back to the playhouse, stopping at the front door, looking at it with such longing. Erik simply stayed where he stood and watched as Charles searched the front door area high and low for something – the key to the mansion, Charles had later clarified – and obviously failed to do so. 

 

  
Erik, fearing that they were wasting their time there, set his power loose, extending his magnetism far away from its usual radius, circling the house. He sensed the metals in the house; nails, bolts and nuts, even the few metal toys – before focusing his power to the front door. He pointed his right hand towards the front door, fingers splayed open as he focused to find the mansion’s key. 

 

  
Erik felt Charles – though to be more precise Erik felt Charles’ watch, pen, belt buckle,  _zipper_  – and then saw the man twisting himself from his current position (on all fours, trying his hardest to look under the door), before finally felt the shape of something resembling a key. Erik clenched his fist, and carefully he pulled the key out from its hiding place. 

 

  
Which was actually under the old welcome mat at the door, with Charles on top of it, looking like he was a total fool for not checking under the mat.

 

  
(Again, much to Erik's own amusement, Erik had to admit that it is a very good expression on Charles) 

 

  
The key floated all the way to Erik’s clenched fist, before Erik plucked the key from mid-air. “Now, what?” Erik asked, raising his eyebrow a little as he eyed the old key, almost wholly covered with rust.

 

  
“Now,” Charles replied, as he picked himself up from the ground, “Now, we go back home.”

 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 

Erik is a man of surprises.

 

 

When people least expected, he’d come at them with his best. People simply assumed he is of an American background, but no, he survived the Holocaust  _and_  Schmidt. People thought he was a simple man who is always angry and fast at coming back with snide comments and all, but no, he is one simple mutant with needs that he wished people just understand, and let’s just say, most of the time people are rather surprised with his needs.

 

 

Yes, Erik Lensherr is a man of surprises.

 

 

But even so, Erik is not fond of surprises in itself, especially when he is the one receiving it.

 

 

One surprise, and a really good one, would be finally knowing that he is not alone, that he is never alone (despite after finally realizing this he was abruptly shoved off the boat and the cold waters made him realized, well, being mutant is not a cure to assholery). He simply hadn’t known that the world as they know it is in fact full of mutants, people like him and Charles and Raven and the lot of them.

 

 

Another surprise that Erik deemed surprising enough that he had a moment to at least freak out about is when he finally realized that he is no longer alone when it comes to Shaw. He now has Charles and his bands of misfits, and not to mention the CIA is also providing him with a more firmer ground to stand, and Moira, despite being human and all, is the only promise that the CIA will always keep them up-to-date with anything regarding Shaw (although Erik has to admit that Moira doesn’t seems like a very important agent, truth be told).

 

 

Now, though, as Erik looked up from the carpeted wooden floor all the way up to the walls of the playhouse, this is a  _freaking surprise_. When Charles said that it is Raven’s and his playhouse, Erik thought something along the line of full of toys and over-sized teddy bears and petite tea table set. He was sure his jaws dropped as he closed the door behind him, eyebrows shooting way up higher than normal making his forehead creasing with wrinkles and lines.

 

 

Where he imagined seeing a large spaced filled to the brim with toys and whatnot, there is a hallway leading to various rooms and a staircase to the right walls that seems to lead to even more rooms. Where he imagined one or two book shelves stacked with books, there is a fully functioning library with rows upon rows of books from all fields and subjects that he was a little bit overwhelmed by the whole collections. Fuck, the shelves were as high as the ceiling and it occupies all the four corners of the wall. And of course, there’s the mobile ladder thingy, the one that can slide all the way across the shelves to get from one high-end of the shelves to the others.

 

 

Erik walked pass both room – the library to the left and another room, probably the reading room opposite the library, stopping a little to inspect, before walking further up ahead. Erik is not sure what is on the second floor, but he decided it is best to explore one floor at a time. He came to a door which opened up to a fully operational kitchen at the end of the hallway.

 

 

The kitchen, although significantly smaller than the one in the mansion, is fully equipped with all the pots and pans and trays and utensils. There is also a large counter in the middle of the kitchen that seems to taken up all the spaces. Erik walked up to the counter, circling it, and found the stove, installed to one of the walls. Out of habit, Erik twitched the gas stove, manually, and flames started to encircle the metal stove.

 

 

Even with the little bits about the house that Charles had spoken of, Erik can tell that the place, the whole mansion and all its glory, had been left for quite some time. To see that the stove can still work, well, Erik just assumed that there are people hired to take care of the place after all. It just seemed very a very proper thought and not to mention things that Erik assumed Charles would do. Raven probably wanted the house to just rot away.

 

 

Satisfied, Erik walked again to the hallway. Only now that Erik noticed something rather strange about this playhouse, apart from the lack of toys and over-sized teddies, that is. The house is well kept - not a speck of dust to be found and it certainly doesn’t have that lingering smell that most abandoned house seemed to have. Not that Erik would be happy be in a house filled with dust and smell like rotten woods.

 

 

Erik stopped beside the staircase. He wanted to go upstairs, he really does, but he did not stormed out off the mansion and skipped breakfast entirely to have a tour in Charles’ playhouse. He came here because he knew no one else knew about this place other than Charles and Raven and now himself. He is sure Charles would want to follow through with his plans for Alex and Raven, well Raven can do whatever she likes and Erik is sure whatever she likes translate well into making one Hank McCoy blush like it’s nobody’s business.

 

 

Erik took another moment for himself, now that he is sure that he is here to fully understand the stretch of his power, one that does not coincide with what Shaw did to him. No. He will try and concentrate and forget about Shaw or the inevitable war and everything and just himself and the metal, something that he had never once tried but is more than willing to try.

 

 

So Erik stood still, facing the front door and his back to the staircase, emptying his mind, save for the presents of metal on him; metals on his shoes, his zipper, the belt buckle, the coin in his right pocket, the wristwatch. Slowly, he expanded his metal-awareness; he imagined it like expanding a box, making it two, three times larger and then the whole box become a large white room. He began to sense other metals around him – the metals on the mirror hang at the front, nails on the staircase behind him, the metal hinges of the door – but something – a group of something, apparently – jumped at Erik’s call, probably nearer to him and probably contains more metal than anything else (not that nails and hinges doesn’t have enough metals, but still, these something has more that it just screamed back at Erik).

 

 

He let out a measured breath, closed his eyes and focused.

 

 

He stretched his power more, focusing on figuring out what these ‘something’s really are. He felt something with limbs and necks and tails – animals? – found them securely tucked away in cupboard in the reading room. Erik took a deep breath and made his way into the reading room. The room is somewhat familiar, and now that Erik noticed the deep burgundy armchairs, he suddenly remembered Charles’ study. There’s a fire place on one wall and a window at another that faces somehow faces a lake (Erik wondered if it is the same lake as the one that he can see from his room).

 

 

Erik turned around and found the very thing he was looking for. Just beside the entrance, stood a cupboard with glass door and the insides were filled with metallic animals – paperweights, Erik figured. Erik can vaguely imagined little Charles with his little chubby hands picking up one animal and placing them on top of whatever pile of papers that he had. It is almost endearing. Almost.

 

 

Erik crept closer to the cupboard, his mind sensing and hovering and touching the metals, as both of Erik’s hands settled on the handle, pulling the door open. On the top most level, there are easily more than 10 figurines, and there are 6 shelves, so probably around 50 to 60 animals? (Though Erik is sure he himself can’t even name that much of animal if he ever needed to.)

 

 

He willed one figurine to come forward – a shark. A Great White to be honest, from the way the shark’s mouth opened to show its perfect line of menacing teeth. The shark flew effortlessly towards him and the figurine dropped solidly to his open palm. He eyed the figurine further, turning it sideways and upside-down. Under the shark’s belly, was the name of the animal, engraved permanently for people to see and know just who these animals are. 

 

 

 _Carcharodon carcharias_ , The Great White.

 

 

Erik smirked.

 

 

He took a step back and called forward all the animal figurines, including the Great White who flew gracefully from his palm and joined the rest, who started to orbit around Erik, waiting for Erik’s commands, completely under his power with not much of a resistant. Erik can name a few of them – there’s a rhinoceros, a cheetah, an eagle, a cobra, a flamingo? (Erik is more than sure that the flamingo will do such an awful job as a paperweight, simply by looking at its awkward one-legged standing position).

 

 

Erik turned around and started to pace around the room. Thankfully, the room was scarce of any furniture save for two couches at one of the corner of the room. He stopped in the middle of the room and sat cross-legged at the floor, all the while the animals never once stop orbiting around him.

 

 

And for once, Erik simply didn’t know what to do. It’s not like he hadn’t practiced before – controlling metal is easy once you figured out what to do with the metal. But now, as all the figurines orbits around him, he wondered what he can simply do with all of them. He can’t simply reshape them into guns or knives – these are all Charles’ and he would’ve hated it if Erik simply morphed all of his collections into some weapons.

 

 

Erik was at a lost, so instead he closed his eyes, and even out his breathing. He tried to calm down (Charles seems to think it is a good idea to always be calm, for God knows what reason) and imagined himself enclosed in a globe with all the animals encircling him (something like Cerebro, but you know, sans the helmet and wires and all that).

 

 

Erik was never a man of calmness and peace, but at that very moment he doesn’t really know why he was trying to be something he is not, but he did nevertheless. The breathing was helpful, the lack of vision somehow increased his senses, the metals that are surrounding him are buzzing with such intensity that he was not quite familiar with yet. All around, he kind of liked this, this calmness.

 

 

One by one, he began to zoom in on the animal, feeling out their mass and built, casting his awareness like some kind of a hand, carefully, gracefully touching the limbs and head and body of the animal. He would pull one out, and began to name it solely from his power, closing his eyes just to make the game harder. There weren’t many (54, to be frank) and within minutes he already finished with all of them save for 17 animals that he couldn’t really figure out what they are without looking at their names. Now he simply sat there, eyes still shut, hands holding his knees like he might ran away from nothing and no one.

 

 

He needed a new plan.

 

 

**********

 

 

Charles felt wrong for so many reasons.

 

 

He shouldn’t have ignored Erik’s need for coffee – he understood very well why the man drinks his coffee – although he had a very valid reason as to why he did that. But still he felt guilty for making Erik tea and let him stormed off the room without any explanation of the least. Which is exactly why Charles is walking with hands in his pocket in this lovely morning, wondering, just where Erik could be right now?

 

 

The kids were still in the kitchen - he is still going to call them ‘kids’ although Hank and the late Darwin is pretty much his age - munching happily. He never really knew that Alex had it in himself to cook, but it must have got something to do with his real family before the accident that Alex never really wanted to talk about. Even Raven is helping out, which is good, because from all he could tell, Raven is someone who is healthily avoiding the kitchen for various funny reasons.

 

 

(“I just don’t want to end up being like another normal housewife, you know? I mean, hello? Mutant and proud?” was one of that ridiculous reasons)

 

 

Charles let out a loud sigh and cast his mind for as far as he could. Finding Erik would be easier this way, he thought.

 

 

Behind him he can make out the presence of the children, chattering about nothing and everything. Their minds are so bright – especially Hank’s – and Raven’s is more like a constant flame, giving out warmth to whoever that seeks it. At the far end of the mansion he could make out a group of four people – gardeners – hired to come to the mansion every fortnight to help and mend the bushes and trees and lawn and whatnot. They were from this one family business that had stick with the Xaviers for as long as Charles can remember, and had never once argued about anything with them, especially more since the pay was always in time and there were never people in the mansion that could have possibly ruin whatever plan they have for the gardens and all.

 

 

Moira, Charles found, is on the verge of either breaking down or laughing hysterically. Which is weird considering that she had swallowed the whole truth about mutations and powers and abilities rather easily – though Charles suspect it is about time that she freaked out about it already, no one should be that calm about something this big. She’s standing on one of the many clearings around the mansion, target shooting. She probably had been doing so since the break of dawn – maybe even earlier.

 

 

  _Moira?_  For a human, Moira is pretty much adapted to the whole telepathic communication thing. Most of the time, she would be the one starting the conversation whenever Charles is within an earshot but not close enough that she would have to (literally) shout just to make Charles hear her.

 

 

 _Charles? What happened?_ Moira sounded worried; almost instantly losing the mixed feelings she was entertaining seconds ago. Is everybody alright, Charles?

 

 

Charles chuckled. So like Moira to worry about something that is not even entirely true. _The children are alright, thank you for asking. Though, I have to ask, have you seen Erik?_ Moira send out a reluctant wave, like she’s considering something – probably thinking whether she had indeed seen Erik or not. _I’m not quite sure, but I think I saw him walking into the woods few minutes ago?_

 

 

The woods. That’s a good place to start, now that Charles had a very general idea where Erik is, considering that the mansion is indeed surrounded by acres upon acres of woods. _Do you know which_ wood _exactly, Moira?_

 _  
_

 

 _Which wood? I’m not sure._ There’s a pause – more like Moira’s mind somehow fuzzy with bad memories of which particular wood Erik went in, although most of them insisted that Erik walked on the pathway leading to the main gate. _Did something happened between you and Erik?_ Moira’s thought sounded very amused and thrilled to say the least, maybe even a little bit… well Charles can’t quite point it out, but it did sounded a little bit jealous.

 

 

 _Nothing happened Moira,_ Moira snorted, _I’m just thinking about having a word or two with him and now he’s nowhere to be found and I just think it’s convenient to ask around rather than use my powers to look for him from point blank, you know?_

 

 

The truth is, Charles is pretty aware that he doesn’t really need to think much about finding Erik. Although he had to admit that even he himself have limits and all that (everyone has one), he is quite sure he can easily pick out Erik’s mind without much mind given into it, provided that the mind is within his reach – and he had solemnly come to that realization after having to stretch his mind to the limit (literally) to find Raven the sly fox. But nevertheless, a slight nudge into the right direction can always ease up the work, so to speak.

 

 

Charles can’t help but wondered at the wave of uncertainty bleeding from Moira. _Well, if you say so, I guess_. As delicately as he can Charles break the telepathic linkage between the two of them and started to walk on the gravel pathway, all the while keeping his mind aware of any sort of mind wandering or thinking that might be Erik.

 

 

There were probably a lot of animals in the woods, or maybe Charles was a little bit not too aware of his telepathic surroundings; the thing is, one moment Charles was walking on the gravel, suddenly his mind picked up something really warm and it was buzzing with energy and the level of concentration just had to be immense for there’s no coherence to the thought at all – all working through with everything yet nothing made sense and it was like staring head-on with a spotlight – had Charles sprinting to the woods, his mind was like a tracker and that warm buzzing mind a beacon in its wake.

 

 

Charles wasn’t even aware that he was running, all the while thinking that he was just tracking that thing mentally, but then he was standing right in front of his old playhouse. The house still looked the same, nothing’s change, really, and any sane (and non-telepathic) people would’ve thought that there was nothing in that house worth checking it out, since it’s in the middle-of-nowhere and all. But not Charles – and probably dozens other telepath, once he had the chance to know if there is any others out there besides Miss Frost and himself – he was sure there’s another red-headed girl. The door, though, to Charles amuse, was a bit ajar, considering the last time he was there he was pretty sure the door is very neatly locked.

 

 

The warm buzzing mind is still there, in fact the mind is not just warm and buzzing, it was practically _burning_ with pure energy, and Charles had to actually restrain himself from leaping straight into that mind – mentally at least, he is pretty sure his body had short-circuited somewhere, judging from where he was standing at the moment.

 

 

It didn’t take long for Charles to make any decision, not that he had any options to choose from to begin with. With a shaky hand (and a very, deeply curious mind), he pushed the door open, surprisingly, without any sounds or creaks. The hallway was the same as he had been there last – and god, when was that? Last 5, 6 years? Had it been that long – the only thing looking slightly new and all unwelcome would be those balls of shadows – animals? – floating around, even if that is possible.

 

 

The bright mind hadn’t stopped being bright, and its presence a tease to Charles, knowing it’s there, but all to alien for him. Charles braved himself, and took a step forward; Erik’s now a lost cause. The bright mind (Charles had really taught about giving out a name to this bright mind, so to speak) probably wasn’t aware, levitating those items – and Charles wondered just what they are, because the silhouette suggested limbs, mobile limbs to be exact – before Charles braved himself and pushed forward, both physically and mentally, trying to figure out just who (or alternatively, what) is this mind and why is it here out of all places and how is it doing just what it was doing, before suddenly…

 

 

Charles stopped, having stalking forward from the door to the gap just before the opening to the reading room, where he and Raven used to spend hours in it, reading and playing and laughing to their hearts content. Of course Charles would know just what those items are; they are his to begin with. Animal figurine, 54 of them, he had bought them one after another from one of the Saturday markets found in the next town, where little Charles and Raven had went out for countless times with one of the cook and his wife – the Jones – who had bought his first figurine, a gerbil ( _Meriones unguiculatus_ , Mongolian Gerbil). Charles had since collected those entire brilliant figurines – though Raven insisted that they were more like paperweights to her than figurine.

 

 

But who would…

 

 

 _Oh_. Charles thought, rather solemnly, of course, the figurines, they are all _metals_.

 

 

And Charles Francis Xavier knew of only one person who could control metal to that extend.

 

 

One Erik Lensherr.

 

 

Slowly, and as quietly as he could, Charles crept further, bringing both of his hands to lie flatten on the wall, turning his body slightly so that his torso was inches away from the wall that divides the space that is the room and the hallway. Charles’ hands found the end of the wall and his knuckles turned pale white as he tightened his grips around it.

 

 

He took a slow, inching breathe, and braved himself to pull his body forward. _This is stupid_ , he thought, as his face was nearing the entrance. _This place is practically mine, and although Erik deserve his privacy, there’s no door to seal out himself from any intrusion_. To prove the point to himself, Charles wrenched his hands away from its deathly grip on the wall, and forced himself into the room.

 

 

Charles had no words for what was in front of him.

 

 

Mesmerizing, probably, but certainly it was amazing and the beauty and delicateness of it all.

 

 

Erik was sitting crossed-leg on the floor, his back turned to Charles, hands palm-up on both of his knees. All around him, Charles’ metal figurines were orbiting him like he was the center of the universe or something – although Charles had no qualms about admitting it in front of anyone, because really, Erik is _amazing_ and should be the epicenter of _everything_.

 

 

And finally, Charles had to admit that it was silly for him not to recognize it even the tiniest bit of it, Charles had figured out the mystery of the bright mind, for it was only Erik. Charles always had a way of knowing who’s mind it is when he can’t really delve to deep to find it out: Raven’s mind a warm and bubbly presence; Hank’s was a like a pinpoint of light, like a star, bright but small in size; Alex’s is like the tide, uncontrollable in a sense, the mind changing from low and calming to a rise of high tide and waves of emotions crushing down on anyone who can pick-up on them; and Sean’s mind is a calm and fuzzy presence.

 

 

Erik’s though, is always the bright one, far too bright to be ignored even the slightest bit but not that bright that it obscured everything else, and yet now, Charles had no idea how that brightness of it all grew brighter exponentially. It was like watching a stray of light from afar, before finally that light settled straight into your eyes, blinding in a sense, but familiar and safe all together.

 

 

The animals - Charles noticed much, much later, after he can finally make sense of the whole scene – were _actually moving! I never knew they can do that!_ Charles was more than sure that the figurines were just that, statue, lifeless and more so unanimated, limbs attached but not movable. These, though, they were moving like they were made to do just that.

 

 

The birds (a stork, a flamingo (Raven once assured Charles that they were the same, saying that the book he was reading about birds were a total hoax), a raven (Raven’s favourite, how exciting), a hornbill, a swallow and a nightingale) were all flapping their wings around, flying effortlessly even, beaks opening and shutting as if they were making sounds that in a frequency no human can possible hear. All the other animals were running around – or rather floating around while moving their limbs – and the fishes were swimming. Charles saw his gerbil (well, everything are _his_ practically, but the gerbil is a special one) scurrying everywhere and anywhere, moving its limbs like it was finally given the permission to do just so.

 

 

Somewhere above the circle that was the animals with Erik at the core, was the vicious Great White. It was swimming, wagging and flapping its fins, snapping its mouth around, opening and closing…

 

 

Charles didn’t realized when was it that he took the last few steps towards Erik, only to find out when he heard a very low growl coming somewhere down below him – _Erik?_ – and the Great White was swimming steadfastly lower and lower, spiraling away from him.

 

 

He stood there, finding himself halting to a stop to whatever that he was doing… He was extending his hands – when? – but _something_ stop him. His eyes widen when he felt something gripping his outstretched left arm, strong and deathly. His watch – oh, so it was his _watch_ – snapped open and floated away from his wrist, floating closer and closer to Charles’ face.

 

 

Oh.

 

 

As the watch grew nearer he saw something, but he can’t really tell what – either the watch was floating faster than he thought it was or his eyes were getting funny – but he was sure what he saw was something red and it was flowing and there was a hint sound of something dripping and blood was flowing fast to his brain, heightening every other sense that is always less than his brain and the watch had vanished from his eyes as it securely wrapped itself on Charles’ throat…

 

 

 _Erik._

 

 

Charles can’t really tell whether Erik responded to that shocked plead for he blacked out almost instantly afterward.

 

 

***********    

 

 

 _Why am I running?_

 

 

There’s a huffing sound in front of him.

 

 

“Charles!”

 

 

 _Erik? Why are you panting? God my head…_

 

 

“…hurts”. Grunt.

 

 

“Charles, stay with me, _god damnit!_ ”

 

 

 _I’m not going anywhere, Erik_.

 

 

Erik was saying something above him – _above?_ – but Charles can’t really make out the words, and his back was hurting, there is something hard pressing to his spine and the back of his knees and god why is he _running_?

 

 

And then everything turns black again.

 

 

****************************************************************************************************************************************

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of beaches, bandages, and doubts.

 

 

The sun was shining – no, scratch that, the sun was _glaring_ , really – above him, a sign that it is definitely a good day to be out and sweat it out. Underneath him the floor of warm and golden sands was like blessings to his skin; warming but not burning, soothing but not scalding his pale skin. All he wanted to do was to finally, _finally_ , close his eyes and…

 

_Charles…_

 

“Hrm…” and that was all Charles could say to the voice, he’s too tired to actually argue about anything with said voice.

 

_Charles, wake up._

 

Charles opened his eyes – was it closed before? – and then the light was blinding him, his head growing cloudier and cloudier by the seconds. Charles brought up one arm, fingers splayed open to shield his vision from the blinding lights.

 

_Charles?_

 

 _Erik? Where are you?_ Charles shifted his head a little to the right, the light now no longer penetrating in-between his fingers. From this position, Charles could make up a few palm trees and the yards upon yards of golden sands. There’s also a faint sound of crushing waves, if he really focuses on it.

 

But what really caught his eyes is the standing form, creeping, nearing him – becoming larger and clearer – Erik. The form grew constantly nearer, until Erik was standing right beside his laying form. Charles contemplated between removing his hands from his face or pulling Erik by his pants until he’s kneeling beside him, when Erik made up the decision for him, choosing not only to kneel beside him, but also cradling Charles and laying Charles’ head on top of his lap.

 

It probably worth nothing, but Charles thought this Erik looked very tired, like he had run a marathon all across the beach (or at least Charles thought it is a beach – what with the sand and all that) just to find Charles, lying on the sand, doing absolutely nothing. Charles also thought he saw something like a red splotch on Erik’s shirt front, though that maybe some kind of design for the shirt, so he took no heed on that.

 

“Erik…” Charles called out at the other man. Everything about this man seemed to be extremely clear: his presence, his warmth, his smell, everything. Everything except for his thoughts. _Weird_.

 

“I’m here, Charles. I’m here.”

 

Charles had meant to ask Erik what he meant by that, but instead he closed his eyelids, the blinding lights making the effort all too easy even when his mind was scrambling at random thoughts.

 

“Okay,” Charles said.  “Okay.”

 

And then everything went black again.

 

*****

 

There were shouting and arguments, and if he really think about it, there’s probably someone screaming rather frustrated and someone else sobbing. He maybe even heard someone grunting one too many times.

 

Charles tried to open his eyes, at the same time bringing his left hand to rub at his eyes, rushing out bloods so that he can see much clearer. He was still trying to move his hand when he suddenly noticed how _stubborn_ his hand was, and that is really stupid, since it is his hand and he control it and –

 

Well – and his hand was actually currently being cradled by someone else. Charles tried opening his eyes again, fighting the imminent urge to just _snap_ his hand away from whatever or whoever that was handling it for him.

 

Slowly, very slowly, his eyes grew out of their unfocused state, Charles finding – thus convincing himself – that the lights weren’t that blinding, so to speak. Charles was lying on his back, proven more than enough by the sight of the porcelain white ceiling that he was currently rather happy to look at more than anything else. The added sight had caused the distant row somewhere to his left side to grow softer and more distant, if it is possible.

 

“Charles?” and something squeezed his hand.

 

 _Hank_. Charles tried to clear his throat, only to notice how constricted they felt and it really, really hurt – not the way it had hurt the morning after he positively dried the booze stock in Oxford (he _can_ hold his liquor, contrary to common belief), but then again that is mostly due to dehydration and this felt nothing like that. He tried clearing his throat again, nevertheless, and croaked “Hank, is that you?”, although Charles is more than sure what came out was more like “Aank is tat oou?”

 

Hank chose this moment to loom over Charles, settling Charles arm – _bandaged?!_ – a little further up – as if wanting to show him his hand – before smiling rather awkwardly at him. “Yeah, it’s me.” Charles tried to smile back, though the movement seemed to need his neck area and for some reason that hurts also so he settled with just showing his teeth – something that _Erik_ loved to do. If Hank had offered any respond to that, it would be to look rather puzzled at Charles reaction. “Are you – um, _okay_ , Charles?” Hank asked, his mind racing for possible brain trauma caused by damaged to the spine or prolonged constricted oxygen supply before Charles calmly shielded himself from Hank’s unwavering mind-wave. _This is one to be discussed much later, if not ever_.

 

Charles let the grin faltered. “Yes, Hank, I’m quite alright, really stop worrying.” It took Charles a good 10 seconds of silence to notice that whoever that were having that distant argument had come to a halt and was standing somewhere behind Hank, his slight built enough to block the view since he was hovering over Charles. Charles dared not to lift his head, let alone tilt his head a little bit to the side, fearing the inevitable pain.

 

So instead, Charles casted his mind outward - going past Hank’s shoulder and letting his awareness engulfing the room – finding Raven ( _enraged with killing intent_ ) and Erik ( _enraged, guilty, tired of all this_ ). Raven must’ve felt Charles – the years spent all the time together can do wonders, even when Charles had promised to no read her mind without any consent – for Raven shuffled somewhere near the end of the bed that he was lying on and smiled rather brilliantly despite her tear-stained face.

 

Raven was fidgeting with the loose end of Charles’ bed, and in order to save her from her misery, Charles motioned her forward with his other hand, the one that is not being held rather fervently, much to Charles’ chagrin (and Erik’s, if Charles was being honest about it – he was rather hoping _he_ was the one cradling Charles’ hand, not Hank).

 

“Charles!” Raven all but flung herself downward on top of him, her lithe body pinning him down rather forcefully and unexpected, her arms quickly tightening themselves around Charles shoulder. Before he could say anything, Raven buried her face on Charles shoulder and started sobbing.

 

Hank must have had at least an idea on what that ensues when he finally let go of his bandaged wrist, _proud_ and _after-shock glee_ swimming around his head – Charles’ mental shield went down the moment Raven jumped on him. Charles snaked his hands around Raven’s shoulder, mirroring her gesture, trying his best to hug her tightly even though he was only able to do that single-handedly, apparently. Out of the corner of his eyes, Charles saw Hank nodding something off, and then rose to his feet.

 

“Right, so I – I’ll be here. In the mansion. If you need me for anything,” stuttered Hank.

 

Charles nodded and thanked Hank for his help, though he didn’t really have any idea how Hank had helped, but if anything his bandaged wrist is a living proof of Hank’s handiwork. When Hank had closed the door behind him and Raven’s sob had leveled down to harsh breathing, Charles was still confused. Not because of his current whereabout or what had caused his injuries – a flying watch, something dripping, a metal shark. No, Charles was more than sure he had sensed Erik just now, but there’s nothing in front of him. _Strange_.

 

“I’m sorry”, Raven’s voice was so sudden that it broke Charles from his lingering mind, suddenly aware that Raven was trying to help him to sit up properly. Raven settled herself comfortably beside him while he tried to sit as comfortable as possible with his back pressed to the headrest. Charles scanned the room properly now, the sun must have sunk somewhere past the horizon, the room is filled with a rather orange-y glow, and the night lamp trying its best to outshine the sun.

 

Still, no sign of Erik.

 

Finally, Charles casted his gaze on Raven, whose face had gotten worst from her sudden outburst minutes ago, but was still smiling at Charles, trying every bit to show to Charles that she is okay, that he is okay. Slowly, Charles raised his left hand and brushed it gently on Raven’s forearm, the gesture meant to be reassuring, but Raven must’ve took it the wrong way for she hurriedly took that hand and sandwiched it between hers.

 

“I’m glad that you are okay, Charles”, Raven had said, still smiling, face still tear-stained. It took Charles a great effort not to listen to the worrisome thought came flying to his mind – they were Raven’s to begin with – the thought came out rather alarming and loud, to be honest. Charles took a shuddered breath before downing his gaze to their intertwined hands.

 

“I’m glad myself: but, really Raven, do tell me what happened?” Charles said in a rush, apparently dying to know just what the hell happened to him. All Charles could remember was him going out to find Erik, the bloody gardeners, his conversation with Moira, a _very_ alarming bright mind, the playhouse… Then everything just got fuzzier, that it is not like Charles to forget something like that.

 

“Well…” Raven said, clearly fidgeting from Charles now undivided attention. She tore her eyes away from Charles’ blues, not wanting the added tension his eyes seemed to add. “Well…” Raven tried again, but apparently failed.

 

It marked Charles patience that particular moment, for he all but strangled the word out of Raven. “’Well’, what, Raven? Seriously, I don’t have all day long you know, what with Erik’s missing, and…” Charles started to rant, only to be interrupted by Raven’s gaping. “What?” Charles demanded, shaking his sandwiched hand for emphasis.

 

“All that - ” Raven was gesturing to his neck and bandaged wrist “ – and you’re worrying about Erik missing, really Charles, just how… _dense_ can you be?” Raven finished exasperatedly before jumping off the bed and raking her hair with her hand. Charles can’t help it – he’d blame it on his rage, what with being called dense by someone who believed that he himself knew nothing about privacy – when he caught a glimpse of Raven’s thought – _glad that I got rid of him_.

 

Charles positively managed not to _maul_ Raven’s mind at that.

 

Instead he let out a breath that was more gasp than calm, trying to look as mad as he can at his sister – though he suspected that Raven is by now immune to _any_ of his looks. “What had you done to him Raven?” Charles asked with voice too shaky for his liking.

 

Contrary to what most people believe – and by most people Charles had meant the butler, Geoffrey, and the head of maids, Mrs. Saunders, (who had all watched the real Raven one too many times), Moira, and quite frankly, Erik – Raven do have a rather readable expression across her face, even when its blue and scaly. Which was exactly how she was the moment the question – and the rather obvious implication of what she must’ve had done to cause even Erik _leaves_ let alone stay out of sight – Raven’s skin tingling to its natural blue and scaly state, and if Charles wasn’t above himself right now he would have commented on the slight shift, the skin rippling even more subtle than the few years when he had first met Raven, that Charles himself didn’t noticed that Raven is no longer blonde – long before he finally took notice of it anyway.

 

Raven took a shuddering breath, her skin was rippling again, though this time it stayed blue – probably Raven was just nervous, her skin tended to that whenever she’s being shifty about something. Which was quite weird coming from Raven, because this is the same young woman who had fought her way with Charles about wanting to let the world know about her true skin – literally, although Charles must say that he was rather proud of Raven that she had not done just exactly that whenever Charles told her to just go do something about it, tired from just having to replay the whole argument about preparation and integration and all that – but now she was being _shifty_ about one man who isn’t in the _same_ room with them.

 

“Charles”, Raven begin, though she abruptly stopped and was tearing at her mind, trying to conjure up something, “I’m sorry but…” and there she goes again, stopping and very, very clearly not wanting to have this argument with Charles.

 

Charles must have lost his mind, because he knew somewhere at the back of his mind he should have been worrying about the ‘why’s and ‘how’s he was in here, in this room (he had no idea whose room it is, but by the way the vast land in front of the mansion seemed to be at the same level, it’s probably the ground level) and just what the heck happened to him and all that, but currently something else happened between Erik and Raven that had caused Erik to leave the moment Charles came back to consciousness. And there, right in front of him, was the one who had caused that said person to leave, or so he thought. Well, at least Raven had a rather better part in that distant argument, so that makes the next action he took to be rather justifiable.

 

“Oh, for God sake, Raven!” Charles huffed out before pointedly bringing his two fingers to his temple. Raven gasped, one hand cupping over her mouth while the other one convincingly stopped Charles hand before it was pressed to his temples. Raven knew better than anyone that Charles never really needed his fingers to work his powers – the simple gesture generally meant to help him focus in case there were too many minds around him or the subject – and her sudden outraged and guilty look proved just how far-fetched she was in this matter to actually even remember all the dirty little secrets Charles had told her about his telepathy.

 

“Charles, please don’t. I don’t want you – please don’t, Charles”, Raven said, half sobbing out the words, trying her very best not to punch herself for her stupidity. Charles narrowed his brows, the action causing his forehead to be wrinkled with creases.

 

“Then just spill it out, Raven. What did you say to Erik that he had left without saying anything to me, prior? He’s not one to leave something like this – whatever _this_ is – undone like this. I _know_ him Raven, I spent a better part of a month travelling with him Raven, now, tell me!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. I think I might actually needed more than just two chapters for this one. Gosh, it's not even _half_ of what I was supposed to write for this part to become a complete part. Goodness gracious, me, what had happened to you?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of Erik's background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know why I wrote this whole chapter, just that you know. A little background can't be that bad. Right?

 

 

The truth is – Erik does know what’s wrong with him, even though he tried the hardest not to remind himself just that.

 

 

Raven doesn’t need to point out all of his wrongs, at least not yet. It’s not even the _end_ of today; they’ve just barely made it to sunset, for God sake. It’s not like her rambling about what happened throughout the _half part of the day_ is helping Erik at all. In fact, if anything, it made Erik felt even worst.

 

 

And in truer words that would be – it made Erik felt bad because it’s _Charles_.

 

 

Erik had never thought that he would meet this weird, geeky, genetic-enthusiast, touchy-feely young chap, _ever_. No kidding: in fact if he did, it wouldn’t be in a freezing sea in Florida. It should’ve been somewhere posh and elegant and very _warm and dry_ ; the kind of places that Erik is sure would’ve caught Charles’ interest – the warm and dry part might not be necessary, but never to be underestimated. But then, no, somehow, through the works of God or something (Erik believes in nothing, for nothing had answered his prayers all this time), they had met in the middle of the sea, both rather breathless; Erik from being dragged by Shaw’s submarine, all the while trying his hard not to let go, and Charles from dragging Erik from being dragged by the sub, wanting Erik to let go more than anything (Erik’s not sure whether it’s due to the fact that Charles might also drowned if he is simply too stubborn to let go of Erik).

 

 

Meeting Charles and therefore the knowledge of the others like him – _mutants_ – was something like a balm to his wounds. All his life (well, all his _child_ life, to be precise), he had been called monster, to a point where even Erik himself acknowledged that. He was no longer afraid of himself; thinking that he can use this monstrosity to kill all those who had done nothing but helped him honed his power – _gift_ , as Charles has phrased it.

 

 

But then, that is not what bothers Erik most of the time.

 

 

What bothers Erik most of the time is this _thing_ between him and Charles – that somehow felt rather familiar to him, like he had somehow experienced it somewhere along his life; karma, so to speak. But that was before today. That was how he had felt almost all the time he had spent with Charles on the road, hopping from planes to cars to taxis; finding, locating, searching new recruits for their little G-Force.

 

 

But now, he knew why he had felt like that – like he somehow should always be on his nerve, ready to strike at the first sight of _anything_ that went wrong. This, his current life with Charles (and the others, of course), felt everything like his years with Magda.

 

 

Magda Eisenhardt, his late wife.

 

 

Erik never really like to entertain his memories, but this current situation just felt very familiar that he should do it, that it is a simple _must_ to compare it.

 

Erik remembers most of the time spent at the camp and after that – mostly it is the one that fuels him, his drive – his _anger_.

 

 

He remembered – vaguely – of running away and fleeing using vehicles that he had stolen (metal doors, metal engines, metal pistons, _everything_ was metal), finding the one good thing about the camp: his senses for metal was then polished, if not sub-par with his current control. He was 16 – having spent two years in the camp, scared to death (figuratively, but to a point it was almost literally) – and had grown to a younger version of himself now, the one without the creases and wrinkles (not that Erik had any issues with them). He remembered being on the road for weeks. He hadn’t stopped when the gas was out – he simply rolled the tires all the way, finding it even easier to manipulate than the _whole fucking engine_. He’d only stopped if he thinks he might die from lack of food and water – going to the woods to hunt for rabbits or deer, or if he was lucky enough he’d turned up into a small town and steal some of the food that he can.

 

 

He never knew when or even where he was exactly when a welcome sign greeted him. ‘Willkommen in Innsbruck’, and all Erik could tell is that the town’s people can speak German and that it sounded nothing like any other place that he had heard of – and the ones that he did was only the towns in Germany and the ones that he had crossed en route to Innsbruck.

 

 

There, he had found a nice little town whose name escaped his mind often enough – he should really ask for Charles’ help, it was his first and final safe place before the hunting begins. He stayed in an abandoned house – found it almost absent-mindedly while he was looking for a place to sleep for the night and he had stayed in the house the next day and the day after, too. In fact, Erik had stayed in the house for five full days, not once leaving it. By the fifth day, when he was famished and in dire need for food (the house still has its water supply, thank goodness), he had walked for about another mile or so to the left of his house, the road finally lead him to a very decent looking two-storied house.

 

 

Erik had dared entering the house – the door has bolts and chains made out of metal, really, no shit, and plus there was no sign of any people inside – and was busy munching something from the refrigerator in the kitchen when a girl giggled at the sight of him, clearly not even _afraid_ at the sight of him. Erik, on the other hand, had stopped munching and had tried to just breathe but then the food stuff he was munching got stuck on his windpipe and Erik had fallen to his knees, coughing as hard as he can to get the food out, when he saw another pair of knees in front of him, and a set of hand running circle on his back and occasionally clapping, the motion helping him ease up on the coughing fit.

 

 

Erik felt like hours (funny, really, it was only seconds, Erik thought as he reminisced) before bracing himself and looked up, only to find a pair of grey eyes looking at him intensely with a lovely smile across her face. They had stayed on the floor for another moment before the girl had urged Erik to finish up his (stolen) food, as Erik stayed on the floor – much to the girl’s disappointment – and finished up his first meal in five days.

 

 

Eventually the girl had practically dragged Erik all the way to the living room, which was thankfully abandoned. She later started introducing herself, thankful that she can speak German – though Erik thought they shouldn’t have to do so, because really, he was only here to _steal food_ , not make friends. The girl, Magda, turned out to be a year younger that Erik is, and her family had settled in Innsbruck for generations. 

 

 

They talked a lot – much to young Erik’s surprised – to a point when the sun was already setting and the lights had dimmed to a very soft golden glow. They continued talking – although Erik can’t remember what he had told her and whether any of it the truth or impromptu lies – until Magda’s parents got home from work – and Magda telling them that she had found Erik sprawled, _dying_ on the ground – and then the mother, Lucia, had invited Erik to join their family dinner.

 

 

Erik stayed, because really, he had no qualms about lying his way for basic needs – plus, he would be lying if he’d told that the sight of the family reminded him much of his own. Over the dinner, the father, Christoph, had asked Erik what he’s planning to do and Erik said that he wanted to look for a job to support his life, what from just moving in and all that. To Erik’s delight, Christoph agreed to help Erik with it, and the very next day, Erik was busy sorting heavy, thick books on shelves and memorizing almost half the sections available in the town’s library.

 

 

Which was where Erik had leisurely brushed up his general knowledge and language and whatnot. Erik never knew he had a knack for language and philosophy. It was funny even, how meeting one girl actually changed his miserable life to a less miserable one.

 

 

Erik was still cautious; he kept tab with what lies he had told everybody – especially the ones he told Magda and her family, they have surprisingly good memories, even for lies. Sometimes Erik will search information about people he thinks worth digging into their past about; you’ll never know just who might be connected to something back in Auschwitz. He even tried to lay low, not wanting to be too familiarized with the others that it might compromise his cover – and he found it easy when he just ignore everybody else and focuses on what he had.

 

 

Magda had turned from a total (gullible) stranger to a friend, and even that had changed, what with spending almost all of his free time with her, walking and talking and just being there for one another. Erik should’ve guessed it, really, that they would eventually be more – more than just friends. They had been friends since the day Magda had caught him, so to speak, and Erik really likes Magda. She may seem a little bit like an air-headed girl who believes even the badly told lies, but she is one very intelligent woman – the privileges of being the town’s librarian couple. And Erik, if anything, loves people who know shits.

 

 

But it caught him real good, that when Magda told him that he was more than a friend and that that more is not towards the sibling half of more, he just stared at her and said nothing. Magda thought he was so furious with the idea that she had stood up from the bench and literally walked away. It took Erik a good whole minute to finally calm down his nerves – he never knew what he felt whenever he is with Magda, but he had always thought it was just glee and freedom – standing up and catching up with Magda, who just smiled (sadly) at Erik, as if Erik had just downright rejected her.

 

 

Then Erik had kissed her.

 

 

They got married, and were blessed with a child. _Anya Eisenhardt_ – though Erik is sure if he had the chance he is more than willing to change her name to Anya Lensherr, besides, Eisenhardt is only his cover name here. Anya was nothing like Erik. For once, she’s a female, which is pretty much very obvious. She had a very soft feature, her face was loaded with soft curves and pink lips and beautiful hair; every bit like her mother. She has Erik’s eye though – catch it in a certain light and angle, and you’ll see blue, but most of the time it’ll be gray.

 

 

Their house (his in-laws’ really, but when he had married Magda, she insisted that he moved in with them) had become quite loud over the years, what with a growing child running around, just the right amount of ruckus. Lucia had stopped going to the library and settled with taking care of her granddaughter and spoiling her all the way – though she always insists that she is indeed teaching Anya to be the perfect lady, to which Erik will always snort as a reply. Her job at the library was taken up by Magda, who now have literally all the time in the world to just be with Erik. Not that Erik will be happy to settle with anything less.

 

 

His life in this nameless town in Innsbruck was really everything that he had wanted – every bit of his dreamt freedom.

 

 

Here, he had the time to not be worried about being chased around, scared half to death about being caught when he’s trapped in a cell that promised no escape.

 

 

Here, he had the time to actually do what he want – reading books upon books of his liking, listening to music that he had wanted to hear – not what he was supposed to do when It is not what he had wanted.

 

 

Most of all, here, Erik had his family back. It’s not his – although it is official in the paper and all – but still, he had Magda, and both Lucia and Christoph as his in-laws was really anything that he had ever dreamt of when he had lost both. Lucia and Christoph was nothing like Edie and Jakob – he know this, deep down in his bottomless heart – but then again they love Magda every bit like how his parents used to love him, so he had no problem with that.

 

 

And then there’s Anya. Sweet, little precious, Anya. She’s everything Erik wanted, and she’s perfect to a fault.

 

 

Of course, nothing that perfect would stay any long, not in this cruel world. That Erik had learnt, but apparently that nameless town had lax him enough that it slipped off Erik’s mind.

 

 

That people won’t stop hunting just because the prey was nowhere to be found.

 

 

No. They’ll just hunt for a new prey.

 

 

Erik hardly had the time to register the smoke, or from where exactly the smoke were coming from. He should have, given that it was the same direction he was going to, but he had to admit all those assurance that little town gave him made him grew a little lax, a bit. Plus it was a really hard day at the library. He was baffled by the amount of people needing his help at the library – even Magda was a little intense with the whole thing – but Erik was more than relieved when they locked the front door at the end of their half-day shift at the library – it was a Saturday.

 

 

Magda wasn’t even aware of the whole smoke thing, or maybe Erik was paranoid enough to notice it, but still, she doesn’t even register the way that sort of thin, grayish smoke lingering on the sky. It wasn’t until Erik pointed at the sky – Magda was busy nuzzling on Erik’s arm and just breathing, as if Erik was the source of oxygen or something – they were only a few blocks away that Magda finally saw the smoke, and it was getting darker and darker. They didn’t really run for the house – they weren’t sure what burnt, exactly – but Magda still had to jog a little bit faster to keep up with Erik’s long strides.

 

 

They rounded the corner and was… _Angry. Furious. Sad. Afraid. Regretful._ Though all of that was Erik’s – he’s not sure what Magda felt but _sad_ must be one of it. The house, their home, was burning away, flames flickering as if taunting them to do something about it. The heat was intense, but neither Erik nor Magda gave it any mind as they crept closer to the house. Erik didn’t noticed it earlier – not until he heard the roaring engine – but a few houses away from theirs were a truck loaded with people, eyeing Erik and Magda as if they were contemplating something before they took off.

 

 

Erik pried Magda away from him and told her to stay there and that he’ll be back. He wasn’t sure what she had said, but he chooses to ignore it as he went after the truck. Years leaving in that town had him remembering all the shortcuts in the town, and he knew he’d met them at the town – there’s only one exit point to the town, and that’s through the same entry point. True enough he reached the town seconds before the truck managed to, stopping in the middle of the road to stop the truck (with the slightest hold on the tires, in case if they had something else on their mind).

 

 

Few of the thugs (he assumed, but thinks that is the best name for them) jumped from the back of the truck, bringing along some weapons. _Metal, good_ Erik thought. There were few of them, but there are never too many metals for Erik anyway, just a matter of control and determination. One of them lifted their hand as if trying to bludgeon Erik’s head with it, but the metal was frozen, hovering effortlessly mid-air. Thug #1, the one with the frozen pipe, was eyeing it with such horror that Erik swore he would’ve laughed at it, but not now, not with the circumstances. The others, though, were level-headed enough. Thug #2 spat “It’s him” to Thug #3 and #4, both flanking him and going at Erik. _They must be really stupid_ , Erik thought, right about the same moment as all the other thugs throw out their metal pipes and slammed their punches and kicks at Erik. _Or not_.  

 

 

Erik tried to fight back – he was not a lousy fighter, he’s a good one so to speak – but fighting off _three_ thugs at a moment is not something even Erik can pull off unharmed. By the time Erik finally was on full _rage_ , he was kneeling on the floor, head bowed over to his chest with hands bracketing the top of his head. The sounds of metal – the dog tags they were wearing, the pipes on the road, the truck, and the street lamps – were music to his ears, and he all but ordered them towards him, pulling and smashing the metals on the thugs. He was so angry about it; he didn’t know what he was doing, except that he’s avenging his _home_ , his _family_.

 

 

Erik didn’t lift his head until he heard the last thug dropped to the floor, head wounded tightly with a band of metal, crunching his head like a snake crushing their prey’s bone. He then stood up straight, assessing the damaged he had done. The truck was a ball of something now; a hand was outstretched from the wrecked front mirror, blood oozing from the ball of truck. Besides him there were bodies, 6 to exact, some of the thugs must have come out to help the other guys, either help them _with_ Erik or help them _from_ Erik; he’s not really keen on knowing it. The street’s lamps were a lost cause – there’s little he can do about it, or willing that is.

 

 

He was still looking around when he finally heard someone gasping, the exhaled air sounded really familiar to him. He walked then, past the dead bodies and onto a damp, narrow street. He was about to move into the street when he stopped his tracks, eyes locked on Magda.

 

 

Magda – who was afraid and angry and looked every bit like she was cheated somehow.

 

 

Everything else was a blur. Magda had slapped Erik and told him not to look for her anymore and that she’s going to take every money they have in the local bank – the same money that they had planned to use to build their own new house – and that she was going to get away from that place no matter how hard it was for her. Erik stood there for a moment, and began tailing her every bit like a lost puppy, having not a single clue of what to do with himself. Magda went back to the house, curses like she had just forgotten about the flames and the burnt house. She looked back and found Erik, eyes cast downward and hands stuck snugly in his pockets. She scowled at him, her face turning into every kind of disgust that she can muster.

 

 

The very same person who loved Erik and gave him a daughter was disgusted because of _what_? Erik’s a _freak_? He had always been, and will always be. Erik took the highway; turning his back and walk away, not wanting to have a fight with his own wife.

 

 

In a single day, he had not just lost his own home – the only place that he can now call his own after years living in a Hell hole, kept behind bars – but he had also lost his daughter, his human daughter, thanks to some human imbeciles who explained nothing to Erik save for “it’s him” like that could’ve save the whole world trouble. Erik had lost Magda, the one that was still alive yet afraid of who Erik really is, like all of the time Erik spent telling her that he had loved her meant nothing at all. Erik had lost his life now, thinking that he had nothing left to lose except for his own soul, even if it is a black as tar.

 

 

That was when Erik decided he’d hunt for Herr Doktor. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have went like 180degree away from what I was supposed to write and now here I am trying to amend these shits that I had produced. I should maybe go and kill myself. On a side note: I coloured my hair!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Raven thought of, and what Charles thought about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't realized that this fic had took a rather, um, bent? of some sort and when slightly towards H/C, which, hey, works best with both Charles and Erik. Though I had to admit that even with the slight turn, I'm afraid I've taken the prompt waaaaaaaaay too seriously and ended up with something not like what the OP had wanted but I am not one to complain about mundane stuff, so I'll just shut up right now.

 

Erik wasn’t sure where he was really heading to, except for one thing: away from harm’s way. Or at least away from Charles’ way, because really, harm’s way seems to translate rather perfectly to  _Charles_  that day and he had no intention of ever testing out that notion.

 

Erik walked and continued walking; he remembered vaguely climbing down the stairs, walking aimlessly to the kitchen, went out through the kitchen’s door, circling the mansion once before coming back inside through the front door. Well, anyone else watching would say he was restless, though Erik is more than sure that he is just clueless of what to do. He had hurt Charles (as much as he would love to point out that it was  _very accidental_ , the end point would be the same) and he should be apologizing to Charles himself but then again here he is, standing at the front door, doing everything that he can to just  _stay away_  from Charles – for the moment that is, as requested by Raven, the ever present and annoying sister.

 

It’s not like he could blame Raven for worrying (over-dramatically) for Charles – Erik would’ve done the same thing, or even worse thing he could think of – but really, they are all grownups and should at least behave like one. He should be with Charles and apologizing, not wander off like some clueless dick.

 

Erik let out a sigh and resumed his wandering. He really is at lost; he’s not sure of what to do, and the only thing he knows of what to really do was being denied by others (Raven). He walked past the common room – a large space that has several couches and a couple of love seats and several shelves filled entirely of books, and a very large space on the floor that was covered with what Charles argued as an artificial fur rug (much to Hank’s relief) for those who just wanted to lie down.

 

He remembered the first night – after everybody had settled down and Charles and Hank had return after stocking up the kitchen with food enough for the  _whole year_  – Charles had requested (telepathically) for everyone’s presence in the common room, along with a mental map so that nobody would get lost in their new home. After everybody had assembled, Charles had explained about their current situation and Moira had briefed everyone with the plans. The plans were very simple –  _everybody_  train, Hank build the techs  _and_  the plane, get to Shaw, capture the man – though Erik had to admit the last part was a tad bit too  _soft_  – he’d planned to get rid of the man, not store him in some asylum awaiting for his might-be death penalties.

 

Afterwards, when everybody was laughing – either because Sean was singing very brilliantly despite his deathly shrieks or because Hank had finally countered one of Alex’s remarks without any help from Raven, Erik would never have known – Charles had approached him. He was standing at the very end of the room, inspecting a book in Latin that he was sure is one of the languages that Charles speak, when Charles asked him if he was enjoying himself. Erik stared blankly at Charles, who was smiling; cheeks flushed, and lips glistening, mostly due to his insistent need to moisten his already-wet lips. Well, he was enjoying himself, wasn’t he? He was standing there, thinking about what other languages that Charles is familiar with – and if German was one of it – instead of planning on what form of training he’d need to sharpen his metallic senses. Charles was still waiting for his answer, apparently, so Erik simply nodded and twitched his lips downward - a form of a smile, he is sure.

 

At that Charles grabbed his forearm and said that he would like to bring Erik along to the bar and help Erik wash away his worries (Erik is not sure what ‘worries’ Charles was talking about).

 

 _The bar_. Now, that is a nice place to spend the night alone, aside from the bed.

 

Erik walked purposefully now. He need to get to the bar, and to get there he’d need a ride. Not that Erik can’t just run there – it’ll be…fun, of course – but it’ll also be tiring and at the end he is more than sure he’d never get back to the mansion, not if his plan of getting wasted was to commence.

 

The mansion now seems a tiny bit smaller – maybe he got accustomed to it in a very small time or maybe he just remember places well – and within a couple of minutes and three doors, Erik arrived at the garage – though Erik had to admit that ‘garage’ sounds way too small to describe that place. There are a good number of cars – 3 convertibles, 2 four-wheel drives, 4 sedans, a town’s car, a truck, and a sport car – not to mention a handful of motorcycles and scramblers. Erik is not sure whether Charles used to ride any of the motorcycle before or they were installed while Charles was away, because the last time they were there Charles pointedly ignored the others and went straight to the one Chrysler in the room, saying that that was his father’s favourite.

 

Erik knew better than to ‘borrow’ that car, so he took a sleek black Buick with a white top. He opened the door, and pulled up the garage’s shutter (both with his power, he just can’t care about keys and whatnot) before slipping into the car. He could feel it, all the metal, even more so when he’s finally inside of it. He can tell almost every tiny little detail about the car – or at least ones that contains metal. Erik is more than sure he can now control the car even more finely – rotating the piston to imitate the same motion you can create with a  _proper_ key – but Erik is tired and he seriously needed that drink so Erik simply rolled the two back tires forward, not even bothering to move all fours. To look like a normal person driving a very eerily  _quiet_  car, Erik placed both of his hands on the steering.

 

He might have a very bad day, but he has every intentions of ending it in a nice way, if not pleasantly.

 

 

**********

 

 

Raven was, at her best, looking very guilty. Charles can never blame her, really. If Hank ever do anything like this to her, either physically or genetically, he is sure to do even worse things to him – mentally, that is. But of course, the best he could ever come up to that would be, well, he was – and hopefully, will always be – attracted to Erik’s mind, such a beautiful and complex mind that he, inevitably, found himself in harm’s way.

 

It’s not Erik’s fault that Charles’ shaking his shoulder caused him to think that Charles was Schmidt. It was not Erik’s fault that Charles interrupted his training-cum-meditation session. It was never Erik’s fault that Charles made Erik hurt him, and Charles really believed in Erik, believed that Erik won’t simply hurt him if he had noticed that it was Charles and not someone planning to hurt him.

 

Charles must’ve been thinking to himself, probably showing the tiniest bit of frustration and concern, because all of the sudden Raven was blocking his view from where he had been staring at the coffee table. “Charles, are you okay?” Of course, she also had the  _nerve_  to sound worry, though Charles had to admit that he is the only telepath in the room, so Raven really was worried for him, not trying to be coy or something.

 

He let out a sigh and turned his gaze away from Raven – and out of sheer coincidence it falls upon the door, carefully locked by Raven when she had agreed to talk about what had happened.

 

“I’m okay, Raven, I just need time to think this through,” replied Charles, although in reality Charles had pretty much made up his mind. Firstly, Erik is not the one to be blamed, for any of the things that had happened between them throughout the day was anything but planned. Secondly, well, Raven is not to be blamed, either, for she had acted out solely because she was worried, and that is not an argument Charles think he can win regardless of the absurdity of it.

 

Of course, that’ll lead to the last point, and that is that, really, even after two of Erik’s ‘freak out’s, Charles is still in one piece, wounded but  _alive_.

 

Raven looked every bit of relaxed – she should have, Charles wasn’t going to blame her for anything – and plucked herself out of her position, half sitting on the bed half standing, hands quickly smothering out any wrinkles on her dress. She smiled, half-heartedly, before bringing her hand to cup Charles’ face. “I was worried" and even her  _voice_  sounded worried.

 

 “I know”.

 

“You were bleeding… and Erik’s face was – it was – as if he was  _scared_  – and – and afraid”, and her hand was suddenly hard on Charles face, afraid that the whole thing will ever happen again. “I swear to God if I didn’t knew better I would have stabbed him with a fork, his power be damned”.

 

Charles could only smile, bringing up his hand to cover Raven’s, before slowly removing it and cradling the hand in both of his. “I’m afraid I would’ve done the same for you”, and Raven’s smile was now of affection, the worries gone with a simple return of gesture.

 

“So, where is Erik?”

 

And just like that the smile is gone from her face in a blink of an eye. Her brows were suddenly drawn to her forehead, her face suddenly wearing a very weak scowl. Charles drew his brows together, in retaliation, before focusing his gaze on Raven’s face, her eyes not meeting his, before he finally realized the look. It is not of a scowl, no, on Raven it would have been the look of…guilt. She is feeling guilty about what…”Oh, Raven, don’t tell me you - ”

 

“He  _hurt_  you, Charles, intentionally or not. Of course I’d  _asked_  him to go!” argued Raven, pulling out her hand to gesture towards the door.

 

Charles didn’t let his own expression down, instead he drew a breath in rather noisily, hoping that the clear message of his disappointment got through to Raven’s rather thick skull. “You  _asked_  him, Raven, really? You asked  _Erik_  to just what – leave me here like – like he  _ever_  left anything unfinished” and Raven’s face went slightly horrified at that, “not in that way, Raven, ‘unfinished’ as in like not see that I am properly taken care of, and had at least apologized or something before shooting off?

 

“I know him, Raven. Believe or not, I do know Erik. And the past few weeks I even had the pleasure to  _really_  know him, first-hand, and believe me when I say that Erik is a very  _thorough_ person, he wouldn’t even had left mundane things like meals unfinished, for Christ’s sake!” and Raven flinched at the slightly harsh note that Charles had used – though Charles had every bit of intention to make sure that she got the point, even if it means to use harsher tone. “Erik even…” Charles took away his eyes from Raven’s face, letting a small smile taking place on his face, “he even apologized to me when he finished my bottle of scotch and took me out for a drink when we were looking for Angel. He brought us straight to the place Angel was dancing, even without realizing it”.

 

And it’s true: Erik is a very thorough and thoughtful person. Despite his nightmarish childhood and the fearful need to just  _rip_  Shaw’s head off, Erik, in a whole, is the every bit of a gentleman. He’d offer his seat to old lady when they had to rode the bus when their car broke down, he’d pulled out Charles seat before seating himself – not that Charles need that kind of treatment, but it really was thoughtful – Erik will even wear this handsome and polite face whenever he met someone whom he dislikes and wished, to his very core, that he will never see them again in his life.

 

All of that lead to one conclusion: Erik will never leave Charles to tend to the wounds that Erik himself had placed on Charles; it is probably not even in his nature to get too far away, if not because of Raven’s pestering.

 

Charles felt every bit like an old man, sighing at every pause as if he’s out of breath, but he did, and the sigh really did loosen up his tension, even if it is the smallest bit. “Charles”, Raven croaked, and swallowed the lump blocking her voice, taking a seat on the bed with both her feet firmly placed on the floor, “Charles, I’m sorry, I really am, believe me, but when I heard what Alex told me at breakfast and then Erik carrying you,  _bloodied_ , both at your neck and your wrist”, and this time Raven really did choked, as if she was trying really hard to just let Charles know.

 

Her eyes got a little bit teary, and she brought her hand to cover up her mouth as she sobs. Charles can’t helped but run his hand on Raven’s back, soothingly, helping Raven to collect herself back. When she did, she held her head high, leveling her eyes with Charles, even when her shoulder was slightly hunched. Her eyes were glistening with tears. “It reminded me of…” and suddenly there was a rush of images of Cain and Kurt, all faces and expression of anything but humane.

 

And now, finally, Charles gets it. It’s not about Erik, it’s not even about the things that lead to his current position – essentially, it is the position he is in right now, this state he let himself in. He remembered, back in those days when the Marko’s were still around – or rather they were still around the Marko’s – when either of them would get ‘punished’ for some really mundane reasons (though Charles really had to argue that Cain have no right, whatsoever, to punish anyone of his age, not in their adolescence anyway), Raven often because she would sneak to the kitchen for late night snacks, and Charles often for being too bright for a  10 years old and figured out things meant to be kept secret.

 

Charles knew what caused Raven to react like this. He remembered several days when he had crawled up to her bedroom with a purpling bruise on his face – because Cain had punched him on the face for no obvious reasons – and on several other days when he would locked himself up in his room, hugging himself, bodies covered with marks from the birch rod Marko had used to ‘teach him a proper lesson’. The days were not that too often, but it is a normal occurrence, and Charles would rather take them all over again if that means that neither of them touches Raven.

 

Even back then, small little Raven knew that she had to do something. Often than not, she would transformed into Kurt whenever Cain decided that he needed his punch bag, telling him to stop. Cain will always stops – it is almost like a reflect – before realizing that maybe his father wasn’t really home or had worn a different clothing and Raven would’ve morphed back to her usual blue self, sprinting away, before Cain turning back and found that Charles was missing. Or at times when Raven would go to Charles room, unlocking it and climb to the bed, attending to Charles’ bruised skin, softly pressing an ice pack on his skin.

 

Those were Raven’s childish reaction to Charles being hurt, hurt by the Marko’s. Now, of course, as they are no longer children, Raven’s reaction would be more…physical, for the lack of better words to describe it. Charles can’t helped but smiled, the bandage on his neck causing him to regret it but never once did it stopped him from doing so.

 

“Oh, Raven, that was  _ages_ ago…”

 

“No, Charles, you’re hurt and bleeding…”

 

“But Erik is not Kurt – or – or Cain. He’s Erik”, replied Charles, as if telling Raven the obvious would actually help her realize that no, Erik will not hurt him just because he felt like doing it, because he can. No, Erik is definitely no Marko’s.

 

Raven’s face suddenly turned very sad. “But Charles…” and God, does she sounded really guilty, like she had finally realized that she had done something wrong. Charles decided, then, that he will need to set things right again. He brought both of his hands, bandages and all, and clasped Raven’s shoulder firmly, turning her body towards him before squeezing a little bit to get her attention. It worked, because Raven lifted her gaze and leveled it with Charles, her were glistening with tears and a tad bit reddish.  _Better get this done with_.

 

“I know you’re worried, I do. But believe me when I say that the pasts are pasts. We left them, Raven; we grew up and left them. Nothing in the past can harm us, not now, not ever. And Erik, he’s…he is a person of the future, a future that I would like all of us to have. He had issues way worse than what we had growing up, and I am trying my best to help him, even if that means I will have to bleed for him. Please, Raven, trust him. Trust him like how I trusted him. That is all that I can ever fanthom asking from you for Erik, so please, Raven.”

 

Raven seemed like she was holding back her tears, sobbing and drawing breaths deeply, and when a trickle of tear escaped she quickly drew up her hand and wiped it away with her palm. Charles used his bandaged arm – unintentionally – and brushed the hair away from her face – and he maybe patted her head a little bit. Raven smiled then, taking his bandaged arm and kissing the wrist. “I’ll try”, she finally said. “I’ll try”.

 

Charles smiled, again, and they hugged for a bit, but eventually Charles got out of the bed, smoothing out any wrinkles and readjusting his clothes. Raven looked baffled, what with her wide eyes and all. “Where are you going?”

 

Charles had to admit, he had no idea of where to go, but he knew what must be done. “Well, since we had made ourselves clear here, I should really find Erik, and settled things with him”. Raven immediately stood up, standing in front of Charles.

 

“I – I’ll come to. I - I need to apologize to him for, well, assuming things,” Raven stuttered, even when she confidently held herself. Charles placed his hands on her waist and her face, stroking her strong jaw a little bit.  _She’s all grown up_ , Charles amused. But this is one that he must do, alone. “No, love. I’ll have to do this on my own. Besides, you can apologize to him tomorrow, during breakfast.”

 

Whatever Raven had to say to that, well, Charles tried not to listen to it, for he had already left the room and was on his way to find out where exactly Erik had went to brood. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you are still reading and had not died out of sheer boredom, fear not, for I'm about to reveal something here. I finally figured out what was so wrong about this _thing_ I wrote. The whole thing happened in a one-day time frame. And this is actually creeping me out for the fact that I already took me like 4 chapters to get to nighttime. Like for real. *End of random rambling, please do ignore and apply as much as brain bleach needed, thank you*


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so long to finish this. I actually (1) re-written it 3 times, (2) deleted it twice, (3) got stuck halfway through like shit, (4) accidentally deleted it while I was happily writing, and also (5) am dumbfounded about the bar scene. The quality of being a shit-ass writer, all of them. Anyway I've never drink, never been to a bar to drink, and will probably never drink for the rest of my life, but that's okay, I'm still alive and all. So yeah. Next chapter the last one!

Erik decided that the drive to the bar was as hazy as he might actually feel about _everything else_ after he got progressively drunk. He wasn’t quite sure _how_ he got there – he tried to remember the first time Charles brought him there, but heck, the drive was all _turn here_ and _turn there_ , plus, Charles had only brought him there once. Erik was sure, though, that he had maybe circled the town for quite some time before he finally found the right street. Or at least a street that looked vaguely familiar and there’s a bar there and Erik needed to get drunk so there’s no complaint or whining about it when one way or another, there’s a bar at sight.

 

He stopped the car just a few shop lots before the bar. There weren’t as many cars around there as he had earlier thought, and thankfully no one was walking around, so nobody really noticed anything about Erik’s eerily quiet car. As it is, Erik got out of the car and locked it; without any use of either of his hands.

 

The night air was bordering really close on being downright cold and Erik can’t really blame himself for leaving his coat back at the mansion – he wasn’t really planning on going out and really, even this plan was sort of a spur of moment for him and by the time he finally thought about his coat he was already half a mile from the mansion and he wasn’t really bothered enough to actually turn the car around.

 

The bar, however, was warm and a tad bit humid – a rather normal and common environment in a bar, what with all the people in it. It wasn’t overflowing with drunken people though, not even full, but there’s only few seats left and most of the tables were already fully occupied save for one or two seats here and there. The bar, thankfully, had several free stools, which Erik gratefully and gracefully took one – he’s not that keen about company tonight, but he’s also not that adverse to the idea himself.

 

The barman immediately stood in front of him, “What can I get for you?” voice barely audible under the sudden shrieks of glee from the other patrons. Erik glanced up from his stare at the table, knocking his knuckles once, twice, before deciding that the fastest way to get this done with was to start strong. “Tequila. Two shots.”

 

The bartender merely raised his eyebrows, hands coming from over his counter to wipe off the area in front of Erik. “Right up,” he’d said, and Erik immediately liked that boy –young, quick, and definitely not the type to ask mundane questions or whatever. The shots came almost as fast as the bartender, and almost as fast as that, they were gone. The taste of the tequila were strong, or at least it was strong because he took it straight but Erik still liked the way it burnt his throat, making him wanting to drink even more, whatever it is that the bartender can garnish for him.

 

Soon, two shoots become three, and that actually sum up to a total of eight shots of tequila. Erik must’ve been crazy, or he probably a really heavy drinker, because even that didn’t make him as drunk as he had wanted to. The bartender, who Erik promised is a God-sent, didn’t even ask if Erik was out of his mind or just trying to ruin his liver, whatever it is that Erik ordered and no matter how many of it Erik thought he needed, the bartender will (almost) definitely give to it to him. The bartender is (almost) definitely in Erik’s ‘List of Bearable People’.

 

Charles is in his “The One” list.

 

*****

 

Charles was so over freaking out. Erik was no were in the mansion, not even around the mansion or on its ground; Erik is simply nowhere to be found. Charles had first thought that maybe Erik needed some time alone, considering that Erik was pretty much worked up – what with all that happened that day. Then, he thought that maybe Erik sulked about not being able to properly apologize to Charles, thanks to one Raven Darkholme. Then Charles had about 15 seconds of major freak-out when he jumped from Raven to Erik actually getting away from them, from _him_.

 

Thankfully, at that point, Hank was coming up to him from behind, mind babbling numbers and tweaks and multiple other issues that if Charles wasn’t as worked up as he was, would probably made sense to Charles. “Are you okay, Charles?” Hank had asked, though Charles wasn’t sure if it was because of the way Charles was freaking out – hands pulling at his cuffs, bottom lip brutalized by both his fingers and teeth, brows drawn together in deep thoughts – or Hank was simply being polite. Charles settled with the latter – he can’t really tell but the thought is nice enough – and smiled at Hank.

 

“I’m fine, Hank. Thank you for asking,” and because he’s Charles and he was supposed to keep an eye on the children (“Can I opt to keep a ‘fragment of my mind’ instead, Moira? Because really, that’ll be _so much_ easier”) Charles had asked, in the sternest voice he could muster, “And what are _you_ doing here, Hank?”

 

Hank, to put it simple, flinched and blanched, mostly because Charles had never had the reason to use that tone on him, and besides, Charles is usually the calm one. Erik is the one who ‘snap and conquer’, as Sean had once described. “I was – uh – I was on my way to the kitchen. To – um – drink?” stuttered Hank. There’s a lot of work to be done with Hank’s people skill. But then it occurred to Charles.

 

 _Drink_. Well, now, that’s a thought. Erik is one who favored drinking to almost _any_ occasion.

 

Truly, people skill aside, Hank is just a pure genius on legs. “Drinks, Hank?” Charles asked, grinning wildly, because really, the idea of dragging Hank into this is like dragging six years old to a bar to have midnight milk. “Do you want to come with me then? For a drink?” Hank, whose eyes were going everywhere but on Charles, immediately locked on Charles, and his mouth seemed like working for words, opening and closing but still no sounds were coming out of it, stammering words but not sentences. Well, anything is a yes now, really, plus Charles is not going to let the previous idea about Erik running away from him as a lost cause; Erik might as well be as far to the town as he can by now, thank God for his huge mansion.

 

Hank was still trying to figure what Charles meant by _come with him_ and _drink_ , even when as far as _should I get Raven for help_ , so Charles saved him the trouble by grabbing the boy by his arm and dragging him towards the garage. “Oh, come on Hank I am not that bad of a company, am I? Besides, it’s _only_ drinking, I promise,” Charles chastised lightly, leading Hank – or rather, dragging him – past the connected garage door.

 

Hank stuttered to halt while Charles surged forward in his eagerness to find Erik. “Woah!” and Hank was suddenly lost in a string of thoughts too intense that Charles simply tuned Hank out. Charles went straight to the Chrysler, the key already in his hand the moment he stepped into the garage, but even then Charles had stopped, the movement so sudden that even Hank stopped thinking about the cars and engines and whatnot. “What is it Charles?” Hank had asked, but Charles simply stared at the empty space besides the Chrysler. Charles know what it was, or rather, was supposed to be there.

 

He glanced back at the door of the garage, Hank following suit his gaze, and noticed that all the other keys were where they were supposed to be. _Erik_ , he thought. Hank glanced back to him and as if that simple twitch of his eyebrow was enough, Charles was brought back to the matter at hand – finding Erik. “Charles?”

 

“Oh, nothing, I was just thinking… Can you drive?”

 

*****

 

Erik, most probably for his own good, didn’t get any drunker what he had managed eight shots earlier, even after another four shots, a glass of water (it’s counterproductive, he knew, but who cares?), and two glasses of scotch later. He tried to ask the Bartender to make something strong for him and the guy handed Erik a glass of water – the one that he had drank. He thought that maybe the Bartender had spiked the drink or maybe slipped something in. Erik voiced his thoughts to him, and the Bartender just shrugged, “You just looked like you needed one.” The Bartender was definitely full of surprises.

 

Erik was, frankly speaking, had no other idea of what to do with his seemingly uneventful night. After a day full of haphazard, the night seemed a little bit too quiet for him. He had actually wished to end his night with a bang, the kind of which involves bed and a lot of moans, but apparently he’s struggling to even get as much as a puff of air.

 

Erik must’ve gotten bored at some point, because he had asked for a piece of paper and a pen from Brat the Bartender (a convenient name for a convenient man) to write “important shits that you don’t need to know, Brat, stop asking.” ‘Important shits’, in Erik’s drunken language, translated well into a barely successful scribbled table showing a tally count that compares his and Charles’ bad day. According to his inebriated mind, Charles is way ahead of him in the matter of being ‘physically hurt and probably sustaining some scars to prove it’.

 

Erik was so into making that tally count – he had tapped the cheap pen that Brat had given to him to his chin, thinking of any points that he might have missed – that he had practically failed to notice that there was somebody eyeing him intensely beside him. From the corner of his eyes, he could see that the man, wearing a jacket (no tweed) and a very tight trousers (the trousers was so in line with his sight that he barely had to move his head). Still it would probably be very impolite to greet a total stranger without offering the other man a smile. A very _sincere_ smile.

 

Though, Erik had to say, he regretted that he actually opted to look at the man. God, the man really reminded him of Charles, but in a very dull way, of course – nothing could rival Charles and his weird (but endearing) self. The man had the same tousled hair as Charles, though it was not as long and as brown as Charles’. The man’s eyes weren’t as blue as Charles, though Erik had to admit, it is blue – in a very dull way. And if Erik really had to guess that man probably plastered his lips with a whole lipstick, what with the way there’s a bit of a smudged at the very end of his lips when he opened his mouth to speak – not the same as Charles all natural red lips.

 

The man in question, was talking, something about ‘who’s Charles?’ and drink, Erik really can’t helped but blamed himself for busying his already slacked mind by comparing this man to Charles. At some point, the man extended a hand and as casually as you pleased, announced that he was “Aaron, nice to meet you”. Erik should’ve said something like “likewise”, but then that would be suggesting that he did find it to be nice to meet this Aaron guy, when he really wanted was for this unknown man to just fuck off. But still, an offered hand is an offered hand, hastily Erik grabbed the man’s hand a moment before Aaron reeled his hand back to his side, murmuring his name as low as he can without sounding like he’s being seductive or something – Charles had pointed that his low voice seemed to have that kind of effect on some people.

 

Sadly for him, Aaron seems to be that very kind of people. As if knowing Erik’s name is a ticket for him to be somewhat even friendlier, Aaron had scooted even nearer towards Erik, seemingly crowding Erik. “Erik, huh? Sounds like a German name to me,” Aaron had said, tilting his head a little to the side, smiling like he’s liking what he’s seeing. Erik definitely does not like what he’s seeing. While his inebriated brain was trying to work a come back to that statement, Brat the Bartender came and had asked Aaron for his order, to which Aaron had asked for two German beers, not without smiling coyly towards Erik for a second.

 

Erik is trying _really_ hard not to roll his eyes.

 

Not a moment later – and thank God Aaron hadn’t managed to say a word till then – Brat had placed the orders in front of them, and if Erik is trying to drown himself in that tall glass of German beer, Aaron had nothing to say to that – in fact he seemed to approve it. Erik was half way through with his beer when he heard a commotion from his behind – the front door. He also sensed a very familiar metal – a watch. Erik smiled a little, bringing his glass down on his laps with both of his hands wound tightly on it, before very smoothly, swiveling his stool 180 degrees.

 

**********

 

The crowd – as annoying and fascinating as they are – was clustered in the middle, blocking Charles’ and Hank’s momentum. Charles had to forcibly shove his way through all the other drunken men, pushing and shoving until he had anything but gracefully made his way through them, but not with the smallest amount of triumph. Despite spending not more than a couple of minute crowded with drunken and intoxicated minds, Charles was positively feeling a little lighter than before – the inevitable effect of being surrounded by such minds, and being a technically lightweight drinker himself.

 

Charles blamed his current state of mind when he had literally lighted up upon seeing Erik on the bar stool, sitting there gracefully, with a glass of German beer on his hand and a small smile building up on his lips. Charles was about to go there and say something to Erik – anything at all, really – but he halted once he finally saw another man settling his hand on Erik’s forearm, beaming to Erik’s clearly unfazed face. If it helps with anything, Charles swore that he saw Erik flinched at the contact.

 

Somewhere behind him, Charles heard Hank unceremoniously gotten his way through the crowd and stumbling forward before practically crashing himself to Charles’ back. Luckily enough, Hank had a very good stability thanks to his mutation, so Charles was saved from humiliating himself further in front of Erik’s new acquaintance by Hank’s grabbing his shoulders, sprouting sorry at the speed of light.

 

Maybe it was the sight of that other man’s hand on Erik’s arm, or maybe it was Erik’s face that was screaming ‘Help me!’ despite the cool face he’s wearing, or maybe it was the buzzing, inebriated minds surrounding him. Maybe Charles might even blame it on his own stupid mind. The thing is, Charles hastily plucked Hank’s hands from his shoulder, before patting him on the shoulder, not once losing sight of Erik. “Wait here”, Charles instructed, but he didn’t lingered long to hear what Hank had to say to that. Even his mind was shut off, except for one mind that mattered.

 

As calmly as he can, Charles braved himself and moved forward, feeling his heart battering on his chest for what he had planned to do, not second ago. They were not that far away, but it did felt like an eternity, of Charles creeping slowly towards Erik, who was perched on the stool all the time, eyes locked on Charles, like he can believe himself. Charles could have swore, with each of his step, Erik’s face was looking more soft – with relief and gratitude flowing off him like waves hitting the shore, like his mind was trying to keep it to himself but at the same time couldn’t stop pushing it towards Charles.

 

The moment Charles’ knees bumped into Erik’s, Erik startled himself with a choked “ _Charles?_ ” his eyes forever searching Charles’ like he couldn’t believe the man in front of him was indeed Charles. Charles had a moment to contemplate his plan before noticing from the corner of his sight, the other man – Aaron. As Charles raised his right hand, Erik took it midway, the movement so smooth it was like they had rehearsed it time and time again. Erik’s grip on Charles right hand tightened as Charles drew both of it to Erik’s neck, his fingers brushing lightly on Erik’s nape. In on smooth and quick pull, Charles crushed his lips on Erik’s.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of feelings, and revelations of it, and the night that they spent together. Oh, and a very annoyed Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you this: Porn is hard to write. I salute all of you guys who made it so hot, that it felt instinctively easy to write. I actually managed to do like, I dunno, 12 (I lost count) covers of this scene, each a different approach, but _all_ porn-filled. Which is rather stupid, but seriously, I can't seemed to write things like this without feeling there not enough feeling, not enough character's POV, and the things that you see when doing sex is just TOO many. Ugh.
> 
> But anyway as I was writing I suddenly realised, these guys need to talk about this shit. So I throw in another chapter, somewhat like an epilogue to this, whatever this is.

If anything, it wasn’t how Erik imagined his first kiss with Charles was supposed to be. He’d admit it, that he had in fact imagined what it will feel like kissing Charles, if there were any story to it, any reasons as to why they should be kissing at all, and where should their first kiss be at, and how soft and supple Charles lips would feel like when pressed against his…

 

Of course, Charles’ lips _are_ soft and supple – gosh, Erik had never felt _any_ lips like this before, not even Mag’s or any other random hook-ups he’d had – but he had never imagined it to be here, in a dimly lighted bar with another man to his right gawking at them like he should be any surprise at seeing two _strangers_ kissing either. Erik doesn’t even know his last name, for goodness sake, can you just stop looking already?

 

At first, Erik was… shocked? Surprised? Happy? He couldn’t really tell, but one thing he was very sure of: the moment Charles crushed their lips together; Erik had never felt as relieved as he had at that very moment – it was like Charles’ lips were the balm to his deep wounds. The kiss was not as perfect as what he had in mind, but a kiss is a kiss, plus it’s _Charles_ , so Erik had exactly nothing to complaint about.

 

The kiss seemed to be dragging for eternity, and as Erik took a deep breath, his lungs were filled with the scent of Charles – sweet and warm and innocent. Erik took hold of Charles’ neck with both of his hands to deepen the kiss. With a swipe of his tongue, Charles obediently parted his lips, head falling a little to the side, his hands surging Erik forward from behind, to get as close as possible. Charles tasted of medicine, probably he took some before coming here, and the realization was a punch to Erik’s gut.

 

 _Don’t think, Erik._ Charles’ voice chimed in, _don’t think. Just kiss me_.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

The bar was suddenly so quite. Charles could only hear two things; Erik’s breathing, and his own stammering heart. After what felt like an eternity, Erik withdrew his tongue from Charles’ mouth, peppering his lips with chaste kisses, coating his lips with even more saliva. Charles couldn’t help but smiled.

 

Charles rested his forehead on Erik’s, dragging his hands up and down Erik’s chest. Underneath his hands, he could feel the rise and fall of Erik’s chest with each inhalation and exhalation, and was contended to know that he was allowed to do so. Erik was giving out waves off affections towards Charles, showering his mind with _love_ and _glee_. For a moment, Charles was just there, alone, with Erik, the whole world be damned. He had never felt so contented before, not like this anyway.

 

Charles sighed heavily, before resting his hands on Erik’s shoulder, feeling the strong and sturdy muscles under his grip. “Erik, stay. Come back home. Come back to _me_ ”, Charles had said, although it sounded every bit like begging. For a moment, Charles was almost certain that Erik would say no. It’s not like Charles doesn’t believe in Erik, but Erik was so… unpredictable. It’s like Erik is someone who would tell you he’s staying today and leave you all alone the very next day.

 

Whatever it was, Charles was almost breathless when Erik gave him one last peck on the lips before saying slowly “Always,” so that only Charles can hear him. By then, Charles couldn’t help but laughed a little and feeling his face stretched as he grinned wide and happy.

 

 

Charles saw a movement, somewhere to his left, and berated himself for looking, because there was that guy – _Aaron_ – still standing near Erik, and still looking at them like they were up for some show or something – though Charles can’t really blame the man for looking since he was probably the one who initiated that little public display, if he may say so.

 

Someone tapped Charles on the shoulder – _Hank_ – before his soft voice floated towards Charles, mind a huge mess of _fear_ and _protect_. “I’m sorry, Charles, but can we go home? _Now_.” Hank had asked, his voice going a little bit frantic by the end. Charles lifted his head, looking straight at Erik in the eyes, before nodding softly and tugging him by the hands. “Right, come on then, let’s go back home”.

 

Erik’s answering smile was just as good as a yes.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

The ride home was quiet.

 

Well, maybe not as quiet as Hank had hoped it will be, but the wind blowing softly from the acceleration of the car did helped a bit. Especially when Charles was apparently busy trying to _eat_ Erik’s face at the back of the car.

 

(Hank might seem like a very shy and introverted person, but honest to God, he does know how to make out. Or at least he had practice a little bit now and then. But what Charles and Erik were doing at the back, _God_ , they should redefine the word cannibalism.)

 

Thankfully enough, by the time they reached the mansion, both of them were done making out (or eating out), and were blissfully resting at the back, Charles head on Erik’s shoulder. Hank was not sure whether he had the guts to tell the guys they’ve arrived at the mansion if they were still busy eating the other’s face off – not to mention that he had pointedly ignored the rear-view mirror throughout the whole drive for the love of his own sanity, safety be damned.

 

It was so quiet when Hank finally pulled out the key from the ignition – way too quiet, to be honest. Nobody was making any sudden moves, and the only noise Hank heard was the happy humming Charles was making (thanks to his sharp hearing). Hank really had no idea what to say.

 

“So…”

 

Judging by the way Charles jumped a little bit at the sound, proved that he had definitely forgotten about Hank. “So…” Charles had said, bringing his head up from Erik’s shoulder and trying to smooth out any wrinkle on his shirt front and side from the cuddling. “Well, goodnight then, Hank. It was nice going out with you. Erik?”

 

And with that, Charles threw open the back door, climbed out of the car with such enthusiasm, grabbed Erik’s wrist, pulled him out of the car, slammed the back door, and dragged a very amused and smile-y Erik out of the garage and into the mansion. Hank sighed. “Right. It was _nice_ going out with you too, Charles. And you’re welcome.”

 

And Hank didn’t even have _a drink_ yet.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

Charles decided then that he hated the stairs. There are just one too many staircases in the mansion and seriously, just how many do they really need, anyway? Besides, it is such a stupid idea of having to build 4-stories mansion when they have such a vast land that they might as well built a single storey house that goes on and on, instead of up and up.

 

Charles decided this as he and Erik stumbled, yet again, in their attempt to climb up the stairs without breaking their kiss or removing their hands from the vice grip they had on the other’s body. Though it’s more like Charles stumbled back first and Erik simply landed on Charles, whose bum hurt _, damn it_ , the stairs are still too hard even with all the coverings. “I hate the stairs,” Charles said, smiling coyly, before pulling Erik into another kiss.

 

This time though, Erik pulled back, grinning a little when Charles whined at the loss of contact. “But then, Charles, how are we supposed to get to the bed?” Charles raised an eyebrow, looking at all like he was considering that statement, before shrugging his shoulders and kissing Erik, chastely, this time. “Point. Now, why don’t we go to said bed?”

 

By then, Erik managed to push himself off Charles and the stairs, before pulling Charles into a crushing hug and a similarly crushing kiss, Erik seeming very focused in sucking out all of Charles’ breathe and leaving him more breathless than the way he already was. “Bed?” Erik asked, to which Charles nodded all too enthusiastically, biting his lower lips and flushing gorgeously at Erik.

 

 

 

It took them just three seconds – top – to reach the top of the stairs, and then another five seconds to reach the first of either of their room: Erik’s room. Charles, being the one in front – and apparently, meaning that he was the most eager one, or at least the one who was comfortably acknowledging his desires – tried to open the door, but to no avail. “Erik, the door – ahh!” yelped Charles, as Erik grabbed him by his shoulder to turn him over, and pressing his body hotly over Charles, sandwiched between Erik’s body and the door.

 

Charles, for the love of God, can’t seemed to form any coherent thoughts, what with one very intense stare from Erik and the feel of Erik’s _very_ interested member, rubbing aimlessly against his own. “Erik…” Charles gasped, and that seemed to do the trick, as Erik leaned forward, his face hovering dangerously close on Charles but not close enough, _damn it_. Erik tilted his head, and Charles was very sure that Erik was going to dive in when suddenly the door behind him disappeared and he stumbled back, only to be dragged back to Erik by the hand on the small of his back.

 

“Something about the door Charles?”

 

“Yeah, the door,” replied Charles, and he retaliated by shoving Erik on the door before very pointedly started to kiss him roughly, licking at the lips, an invitation. Erik smiled, and Charles can feel the muscle stretching to accommodate his wide smile, before opening up to Charles, his tongue pulling Charles’ in. The kisses went on, their hands roaming each other’s body, hips rocking to meet each other in an attempt to create the slightest, loveliest friction.

 

Charles’ hands were still feeling up Erik’s front, from his broad shoulder to his love chest down to that narrow waist, when he finally realized that Erik’s hands were already unbuttoning his shirt, his sweater vest already made its way to the floor, without Charles noticing it. Charles couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle, burying his face on Erik’s neck, and simply inhaling the scent of Erik. “I’m far too distracted for this”, Charles had said, which was actually the right thing to say, as that had Erik wiggled out a choked, throaty laugh.

 

“Well, you do wear a lot of layer, I just can’t see why I should wait for you before I start,” replied Erik, who had now managed to unbutton the shirts, after unceremoniously tugging the shirt from Charles’ pants. Charles just hummed his approval, and started to reciprocate by tugging Erik’s turtleneck over his head, Erik’s arms shot up straight to help him out, and dumped it on the floor, besides his sweater vest.

 

That had left Erik naked waist up, all skin bared for Charles to see. And, God, is there a lot for him to see. Charles is not that soft – he worked out, a little bit, now and then, and he loves running – but Erik is entirely different case. He is built lithe, his waist narrows to a lovely space, but his shoulders are wide and hard, his muscles are observable unlike any other man Charles had seen naked. Saying that Erik was craved to life by some ancient artist is not a far-cry, at all.

 

In that span of time, whereby Charles was busy intensely _cataloguing_ Erik’s body, he was somehow pushed backward all the way to the bed, his calves caught at the bed side and he felt backward, with a  surprised yelp, unto the bed. He was about to say something to Erik, something about warning and patience, but his tongue refused to produce words at the sight of Erik straddling his thighs, his hands unbuckling his belt.

 

Charles must have looked like a fool, mouth opened wide, gaping at the sight of Erik unbuckling his belt, because Erik simply raised his eyebrow, questioning, before asking “What?” with a  shrug of his shoulder. Charles had to shake himself, digging the heel of his hand to his eye to clear out his mind. “Uh, nothing. It’s just,” and Charles looked up, straight into Erik’s eyes, “You’re beautiful.”

 

With that, Erik smiled – the smile that is less teeth and more affection – before draping himself over Charles. “No, Charles. _You’re_ beautiful.” Charles blushed, feeling the heat rising to his already flushed cheeks. And Charles had this urge to return the same remark back to Erik – to see if they can go on like some broken radio, like those scenes in the bad, sappy romantic movies that he had accompanied Raven to – when Charles felt something sharp tugged at his left hand, the feeling there that he can’t ignore it.

 

Erik was trying to pull free Charles’ arms of the sleeve.

 

Charles can’t help but hissed at the slight pressure.

 

Charles was fully aware that the pressure was not so much of a pain – he had had worst than that, honestly – but somehow the transition between lust to pain was so sudden, so _uninvited_ , that Charles can’t help but hissed the moment the pressure was registered by his brain.

 

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to do.

 

Erik had gone pale, and went rigid at the sound of it. All of the sudden, Erik’s mind was closed off, like he had suddenly went dead or maybe built a fortress around his mind so strong that even Charles can’t break through, not without putting his mind into it, so to speak. And if by the look of his stricken face, Charles knew whatever that was going in Erik’s mind is not pretty, not at all.

 

Carefully, Erik lowered Charles’ shirt and his hands. Charles didn’t realized how or when, but he had somehow managed to, instead, straddle Erik’s lap, his two feet dangling awkwardly, not quite reaching the bed. Erik sighed, what seemed to be a very sad and defeated sigh. Charles tried to reach out into Erik’s mind, but still can feel how Erik seemed to reign in all of his emotions, his feelings, not even a tinge of his mind out in the opening for Charles to question his sudden sullenness.

 

Charles was about to ask Erik, ‘why the sudden change?’, heck, he had even managed to call out Erik’s name, voice a note above whisper, when suddenly Erik had all but crushed on top of him, his body pining Charles to the bed, fitting him perfectly. Charles wouldn’t mind the emotional see-saw, really, not when Erik seemed interested in not letting Charles down, not after what they had gone through these past few hours, but Charles would really do need an explanation, thank you.

 

“Erik, _what_ is it?” Charles had asked, a few times even, but like all of his attempts that night, it was met with silence, accompanied by a crushing kiss from Erik.

 

(Contrary to popular believe, namely Raven’s, Charles do take cues and from what he’s seeing, Erik’s not ready to discuss it. Yet. So he let it go.)

 

Charles yelped, a little, when his shoulders where suddenly pushed into the bed, only to realizing it later that it was Erik’s hands. But that took a little time, for then Charles was busy trying to hold off Erik’s tongue, currently whose every intention of breaching into Charles’ mouth. It’s not that Charles don’t want to – _God_ , Erik kissed like no other man nor woman he knows – but he still need to know what is bothering Erik, and that damn man still holding up his shield, not even letting Charles in to announce his concern!

 

_Please, Charles._

Charles must’ve been dumbstruck, because then he can only register Erik’s tongue sliding into his mouth. He wasn’t sure how, or even when, but the moment he picked up that piece of thought – oh and he’s sure it is not spoken out loud, he knows the difference very well – he was so sad and angry at the same time that he wants nothing but to let Erik knows that _you are not alone_ , that _I will be by your side_ , and _forever_ , _just let me in and I’ll show you_.

 

But then, before any coherency can come to him, Erik was already withdrawing his tongue from Charles’ mouth, pulling back and taking with him Charles’ pants. It’s probably proves just how winded Charles was at the moment: he didn’t even realize when Erik had undone his pants, much to Charles’ own regret.

 

Charles attempted, again, at talking about… _this_ with Erik, whatever this might be and he knows it is kind of rude, of talking something not entirely about sex when you’re doing it, but this is not what he had in mind either, of Erik not talking to him, not even saying a word but seemed to have every intention in his mind to debauch Charles, like it is his mission, his _redemption_ …

 

And that struck close to home, doesn’t it?

 

Charles suddenly _knows_ , of the reason behind this, of the motivation. Erik was kissing him, attentive and very skillful, his tongue fucking into Charles’ mouth mercilessly; his hands were pulling Charles’ briefs further down, freeing his hard-on from its constraints. Charles braved himself and took hold of Erik’s face, pulling away from his devious mouth; his eyes gazing intensely into Erik’s steely grey, and for once, Charles felt like he can reach into Erik’s deepest _fear_.

 

 _I’m sorry Charles I didn’t mean to it is_ all my fault _all my fault my fault Raven was right I shouldn’t do this this is my apology take it take it all I’m sorry_ love __

Charles gasped, his lungs suddenly void of air, his blood had all but ran away from his brain, he was so sure he had never felt this light before, not without any drugs or drinks, not by a single look in the eye.

 

“Yes, Erik, _please,_ God…”

 

Charles can’t help but cried out a little, his eyes still locked into Erik’s. He felt the tears running down on his cheeks, and Erik sure had saw it too, because then Erik pried himself from Charles’ hold and kissed the tears away, lapping at them before kissing Charles, although more chastely this time – no longer in a hurry, not racing for something that was already given to him.

 

Down, Erik went down still and leaves trails of wet, open-mouthed kisses on Charles scorching skins, pausing a while to nibble at Charles’ nipple while pinching the other with his free hand, Charles’ reflex causing his body to arch into that devilish mouth, before going lower still. Charles can’t help the breathless groan Erik wrecked out from him when Erik lingered a little at his belly, his mouth kissing and biting and marking at whatever skin that he can: the navel, his hip, the patch of skin right above his leaking prick.

 

“Erik, _God_ , please, Erik _, please_ – just - - a-ahh!” moaned Charles as Erik finally, _finally_ swallowed him whole – his face was practically plastered to Charles’ stomach. “Erik, God…” and Charles can’t take it anymore: the perfect heat of Erik’s mouth, the wicked tongue cupping his underside, working its way up and down in time with Erik’s bobbing head, the rhythm in synced with Charles’ stammering heart.

 

It didn’t last long, though. Erik was swallowing so much that he must have had little more space to breathe – Charles may not be _huge_ , but past experience do tell that his was _satisfactory_ nonetheless. Erik took hold of the base of Charles’ throbbing cock, the grip a deathly pleasure, as he slurped his way up and off Charles’ cock. He busied himself with Charles’ testicles while his hand was pumping fervently Charles’ cock – the pace was excruciatingly lovely, causing Charles to moan even more, the words _Erik_ and _God_ coming of his name like some kind of prayer.

 

Charles knew he was close; he could feel the heat that gripped to his lower abdomen, not letting go unless it is time for Charles to relieve himself. But Charles didn’t want to come this early, not with Erik still _nicely_ tucked inside his trousers, the tented bulge of his trousers screaming discomfort beyond recognition – no, Charles wanted to come with Erik. But with Erik’s determination – if the way his sucking Charles was any indication – and his wandering fingers, Charles couldn’t helped but damning himself for not being forward enough, not showing Erik how _Charles_ wanted to please him, too. That this is not just about him, it was about _them._

 

But still, even the thoughts didn’t prepared Charles from the intrusion at his quivering hole – the act so sudden that Charles couldn’t help but bucked into Erik’s mouth, the blunt of his head nudging at Erik’s throat. “Ah! Sorry – Erik, God, do that again,” Charles practically pleaded for Erik to intrude him more, so much so that he unconsciously spread his legs wider, offering his body for Erik to discover, as much as he likes.

 

The message seemed to go to Erik; his fingers were quick to return to his twitching, puckered hole. Charles’s hands went straight to Erik’s head, clutching at the soft hair, nudging Erik to hasten the pace. It was when Erik’s sole finger ventured inside of Charles, the fingertip barely pressed to that sweet spot, the sensation making Charles’ spine shivering and Charles’ whole body trembling. Charles counted three stabs, three perfect, lovely stabs at his prostate, before that tight feeling on his stomach flushed down, pulling all of his breath along, his legs trembling as he spent himself in that warm mouth, who was sucking and swallowing whatever that Charles can muster out.

 

Charles slumped back to the mattress, his penis still comfortably warm in Erik’s mouth, and he couldn’t wondered how bad it must seemed for him to force Erik to swallow his come, but the thought that it was Erik who made him come, Erik who was undoing him armed with nothing but a devious mouth and wonderful hands seemed to overwrite whatever condescending thoughts Charles had previously.

 

And as Erik rose from his previous position, Charles can’t seemed to tear his eyes from the way Erik’s Adam’s apple bobbing, probably the remaining of Charles’ semen still lingering in his mouth. Erik hovered above him, his weight not that unbearable for Charles, but a pleasant anchor that kept him bolted to the bed. Erik was brushing his lips on Charles’, and Charles wanted nothing but to catch that mouth with his, when Erik whispered softly, his steely blue-grey-green eyes shimmering in that moon-lit room,

 

“I want. _You_ , Charles. I want you.”

 

And with that Charles was nodding his head hard enough that he almost knocked Erik on the forehead. Charles was then reminded of Erik’s finger – the same finger that stayed inside of him doing God-knows-what after he climaxed – wriggling its way to Charles’ prostate. It didn’t took long before Charles started to harden, _again_ , his growing prick trapped between Erik’s and his belly, and Charles was restraining himself from enjoying the friction on Erik’s taut stomach, despite his cock feeling a little bit raw at the moment.

 

Erik withdrew his finger from Charles’ hole, and brought it to his mouth to lick at it. Charles was gaping by the little display, that he instinctively took Erik’s wrist and started lapping and sucking them like some hungry canine. By the way that Erik’s mouth parted slightly and the way his pupil dilated just a little bit more, Charles really couldn’t say that Erik minded at all.

 

The finger returned, Erik inserting two at a time and Charles bucked this time, trying to get the fingers to work deeper inside of him, and doing so his cock was being squashed nicely between their bellies, the pressure a balm to his sore cock. Erik soon added another finger, the three deft fingers stretching their way all to the second ring of muscle, but by then Charles couldn’t really wait any longer.

 

“Erik, now Erik, please, I need you, _now_!”

 

Erik grunted, the sound was a mix of frustration and agreement, and he then withdrew his fingers – much to Charles’ whining – and started to stand up to take off his trousers.

 

Thankfully, Erik did so with such efficiency, and within seconds he was bare of any clothing. Charles always knew Erik was beautiful – he had his share of awkward glances and sneak peak when they were on the road recruiting mutants, when the unavoidable need to dress in front of the other actually occurs – but seeing a naked Erik, with that _monster_ pointing up gloriously was something new, something new that Charles almost immediately embedded the image straight to his brain, not wanting to forget how regal Erik had looked like standing naked in front of him.

 

Charles needed that cock inside of him, and he was sure that the little stretching exercise Erik did was enough, but he’d be a fool to let go the chance of actually having that lovely cock in his hand.  Charles got off his back and got on all fours, facing Erik, his ass sticking out, and he can still practically feel Erik’s fingers scissoring their way inside of him. Charles reached out tentatively to Erik’s cock, admiring the way the network of veins were mapped all around that cock, the way the bulbous head gleamed with pre-come, and the slit were excreting even more pre-come that Charles just had to pulled the cock down to his mouth and sucked at that sweet nectar.

 

Erik hissed at the contact, but did nothing to stop Charles. Charles experimentally sucked at the head – he had his fair share of cock-sucking, but really, nothing this big, and really, this is Erik, it had to be great, but Charles was out of practice and seriously he wondered if that thing (Charles really had to stop referring to it as ‘ _that thing_ ’) can fit into his mouth. But Charles tried, nevertheless, and when he gagged as the head hit his throat, he couldn’t help but looked up at Erik; his eyes were blurred by the sudden tears that welled up at the first sign of pain.

 

Erik took hold of his jaw, and pulled himself out of Charles mouth, before angling his head upward while Erik himself bent downward to capture his mouth. Then Erik literally pulled Charles up by the shoulder, and unceremoniously pushed Charles down onto the bed. Charles was so surprised, but when Erik started to lift both of his leg by the ankles, Charles knew better and pulled up his legs by the knees, bending his body in half.

 

His entrance full in view, Charles shuddered a little bit at the hint of chilled night air. Erik lowered his body, his face was directly above Charles’ quivering hole, when Erik’s hands squeezed Charles’ ass. Charles squirmed a little bit, the squeezing with his legs bent like this weren’t as nice as it seemed, but was totally unprepared for Erik to plunge his tongue deep into his anus without much of a second thought. “Er-Erik! Aaahh!”

 

Erik was lapping, sucking, fucking Charles’ hole with his mouth, one of his finger slipping into the hole too, opening it even more for that wandering tongue. And all Charles could do was to bite his fisted knuckle, not wanting himself to make anymore noises than what he had already made, not that he was keeping tab at how loud he was making them. It didn’t last long though: Charles was more than thankful for that, he didn’t want to embarrass himself further by coming again with nothing but a finger and a tongue, _again_.

 

Erik went straight to kiss him, and he still could taste a little bit of his come in Erik’s mouth, but that combined with the taste of his ass and Erik’s own beautiful distinguishable taste, Charles was bound to loss control and was then busy licking Erik’s mouth, somewhere in between he was panting Erik’s name and cursing lightly. Charles was a little dazed, truth be told, but he couldn’t quite missed Erik’s hoarse voice asking for condoms, and all Charles could think of at that time was _Fuck_.

 

Because this is _Erik_ , for fuck sake, asking him for a pack of condom, and if Charles didn’t know better, that is as much as an invitation that he’ll ever get from Erik, and God knows when will they be having this conversation again – though Charles do hope that it’ll be soon.

 

So, instead of answering, Charles took hold of Erik’s shoulder, his nails digging into the skin, marking it with crescent marks, trying as hard as he can to show Erik how desperate he was. Erik growled – though Charles couldn’t really tell whether it was an understanding-growl or annoyed-growl – and Charles managed to choke out, “Do it, Erik, just do it, like this”, to which Erik growled even more, burying his face into Charles’s neck and biting and kissing and lapping the skin there.

 

With some more maneuvering – or rather, Erik manhandled Charles, while Charles just lay there, pliant and willing – Erik settled back into the space between Charles’ spread legs, Charles’ ankle locked tight at the small of Erik’s back. Charles was already heaving, anticipating the intrusion – all of his previous experience saw very little of him bottoming, and usually he was way too intoxicated to remember anything except for the fact that he had bottomed when he actually did – but instead of going in straight for the kill, Erik nudged his cock to Charles entrance, rubbing his entire length between Charles’ crack, making Charles fully aware of the promise of sex.

 

Erik still didn’t pushed his cock any deeper, though, the head simply lingered on Charles’ entrance, smearing pre-come, and Charles was about to tell Erik to just get with it, that he was freaking ready, that all the fingering and rimming had loosen himself quite enough already, Charles even managed to whimper Erik’s name, his voice thick with want and need, when suddenly Erik _plunged_ his cock deep into Charles, up to the hilt.

 

Charles was so surprised he didn’t have the breath to scream or even moan, his mouth was gaping at the sudden intrusion – he can practically feel his lungs emptying out their content, his back arching up, his sweaty chest making contact with Erik’s. It burnt, Charles’ hole was stretched out to accommodate Erik’s throbbing member. Erik simply stayed there, his cock buried deep in Charles, his face buried at Charles’ neck, his hands gripping Charles’ waists. It wasn’t long though, before Charles started to nudge Erik at his ass with the heel of his feet, that Erik started to begin moving.

 

The thrusts were short, like Erik’s haggard breaths – short and fierce. At first it burnt, the friction between Charles’ clenching hole and Erik’s thick cock hurting, a little, nothing that Charles can’t stand, but it hurt and it felt a little uncomfortable, and Charles can’t help himself from sobbing a little. Erik seemed to realize it though – he bent a little forward, the movement causing Charles’ breath to hitch a little, Erik’s thick girth a foreign pressure on his prostate – and he kissed the fleeting tears on Charles’ cheek, hot and open-mouthed, the warm breath tingling Charles’ skin. Charles could’ve sworn he felt a surge of _proud_ and _relieve_ when his breathing return to a more normal level – as normal as it can get being fucked – but he was too busy kissing Erik by then that he was not sure if it was his or Erik’s.

 

Before long, Erik’s thrusts started to change. It grew more frantic, Erik pulling his cock almost all the way to the head before slamming it right back in – Charles gasping with each and every thrust, his own cock making a pool on his stomach. Charles’ hips were starting to go numb, Erik’s grips on them was starting to bruise them – there’s hand prints from Charles’ ass all the way to the inside of his knees and his waists, but he was moaning Erik’s name, his ability for speech already been reduced to _Erik_ and moans, so he guessed it’s no good to stop now just because of his numbing hips.  

 

At some point Charles must’ve shut his eyes - Erik’s pounding turning frantic with every minute, the air thick with the smell of sex – because out of nowhere Erik was moaning Charles’ name, the tone sounded very desperate. “Charles. _Charles_ ,” and when Charles finally opened his eyes, he couldn’t seemed to put a word to the view, even if at that time he was still talking like a sane person and not a moaning mess.

 

Erik’s eyes were fully blown, the pupils so dilated that it was black, and the only remainder of his irises were a ring of steely grey. His forehead was plastered with his hair; the sweat making the hair appeared darker than normal. Erik’s mouth was hanging open; the lips were red, kiss-bruised. Erik was no longer breathing with his nose, but sucking in air with his gaping mouth. Charles couldn’t resist the need to cradle Erik’s face – so he did, and Erik turned his face a little, nuzzling Charles’ palm, his thrusting never once faltered or loses their lovely rhythm.

 

Charles was sure he was the same kind of mess, more or less. Erik then let go of his legs, and cradled Charles’ head with his hands, elbows buried deep on the soft bed, Charles locking his hands at the back of Erik’s head. Erik rested his forehead on Charles’ – they seemed to be doing that a lot – his hot breaths mixing and mingling with Charles’, that Charles felt even lighter than before.

 

Erik’s voice croaked, when he opened his mouth. “Charles”, he said, and he went down, pulling Charles’ lower lips into his mouth, sucking at it, before Charles tilted his head a little and deepen the kiss. It didn’t take long before Erik growled and hummed urgently at Charles, that Charles knew that Erik was close. Erik pulled away from the kiss, and tried to pull all the way, but Charles kept his hands firmly at the back of Erik’s head.

 

“Come inside of me. _Please_ , Erik.”

 

And with that, Erik’s pace stuttered, a little bit, before he up the pace even more, pounding into Charles with newfound urgency. Erik closed his eyes, his brows creased in concentration. “You sure?” Erik had asked, his voice sounded a little bit scared.

 

To be honest, Charles wasn’t sure himself, but at that very moment, _he knew_ , he knew it was something that both of them needed, like the flicker of light in a dark tunnel. Charles nodded, before barely finding the last remaining strength in himself, before burying in Erik’s neck, whispering in his ears, hot and breathless. “Yes, Erik. Do it.”

 

Erik groaned; the sound coming deep from his throat, deep and wounded. The sound seemed to do something to Charles, for his cock twitched in between their sweaty stomach, calling for attention. Erik’s thrusts became slower, but it does not stop, and Erik pushed himself up, before taking hold of Charles’ cock, for one more time that night. Erik’s hold on his cock was tight, possessive, causing Charles to whimper, his hands clutching at the bed sheet, urgent. “ _Erik_.”

 

Erik’s pounding stuttered, once, before Erik stilled and hunched over Charles, framing his face with his free hand. “Come for me, Charles. Come for me,” and with one final gasp, Charles did – his spunk coming out hot, making a mess of his own stomach and chest and Erik’s hand, his cock twitching slightly, already softening. At the same moment, Charles felt himself clenching his hole, the reflex was so new, that the moment he realized it he began clenching even more.

 

“Erik! _Erik_ – “

 

And with that, Erik came, Charles feeling all the throbbing and the gush of come in his hole, the semen warm and foreign and pleasant in him, before Erik crashed on top of Charles, his breathing as haggard and deep as Charles.

 

Erik pulled himself out, his cock still throbbing and twitching despite getting softer, and Charles do admit, the sight was still amazing as it was when the cock was hard. They kissed some more, the kiss lingering and languid: some deep, tongue chasing each other and tumbling inside their mouth, teeth clashing together; some chaste, sweet, in the absence of passion and heat.

 

It wasn’t long before Charles felt sleepy, Erik’s chest a comforting heat to his back, his arm tracing lazy, amiable design on Charles’ stomach, one of Erik’s feet sandwiched between Charles’. Charles sighed deeply, falling deeper into Erik’s warmth, lacing Erik’s finger of the hand that was pillowing his head together, before falling asleep like that, Erik’s breath a tingling reminder at the nape of his neck.

 

 

 

 

 

**********

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and totally not related, but there was this video about some porn-star, _gay_ porn stars, going all cuddly and handsy and romantic and I thought about doing a Cherik cover for it. And as you can see, my porn-writing skill is a mess. I was thinking, if anybody interested in doing it with, anybody who know shits about porn. ((Is this how you advertise? I just don't have a clue))


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, and the other mornings after that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really is the end guys. Seriously.

That night, Erik dreamt of a field of golden daffodils, the sun setting in, casting a fiery red shadow in the sky. Erik dreamt of piercing blue eyes, warm hands and warm mouth, engulfing him in warmth that lodged him, pulling him into it further, _deeper_.

 

Erik dreamt of a voice so familiar, telling him to _come home, come back to me_.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

Something was bouncing, or moving Erik can’t really tell, but that something woke him up. And the moment when Erik realized that he was indeed awake, his body seemed set to make his day even worse than ever – his head was pounding, like a drummer beating the hell out of his head, his throat so dry he can probably dull a blade with it. And his body _ached_ like never: his hips, his shoulder, God, his _back_.

 

Then there was that bouncing again. This time the bed creaked, as if the weight was finally settling in. Erik creaked his eyes open, and cursed when bright white light surged into his eyes, blinding.

 

 “Erik, you’re awake!” Erik knows that voice, _anywhere_.

 

Erik tried once again, opening his eyes, but this time armed with his fingers, splayed above his eyes, blocking the intrusive light. He was about to ask Charles _what the hell he was doing_ , when suddenly he was speechless.

 

Charles, naked and void of any string, was kneeling at his bed, hands pressed firmly to the window that was overlooking the lake, his back to Erik. But that wasn’t just the reason he was so stunted. Charles’ asses, that globe of perfect flesh, were red with hand prints – _his_ hand prints.

 

“Erik, the view is so _wonderful_ , I never thought…” Charles was speaking, but Erik still can’t tear his eyes away from that _lovely_ ass. He felt something stirred between his legs, and his hands were itching to just _grab_ his cock, Charles or no Charles.

 

It was then that the ass turned – or rather, _Charles_ turned – and Erik got a few seconds viewing of Charles’ front – the bruised hips, more hand prints on his pale skins, that lovely, soft cock – and then Charles was bending down, his face looking every bit questioning at Erik. “Erik, are you okay?” Charles asked, voice full of concern.

 

Erik had to shake his head a few times, trying to clear his mind. Charles up close was even more breathtaking – Erik can clearly see marks on his neck and shoulder and collarbone, his lips were deep-red, definitely kissed bruised; a reminder of last night. Erik sighed, and scrubbed his face with both of his hands. When he pulled them away, Charles was rearranging himself, sitting cross-legged on the bed, still naked, the sunlight casting a lovely halo-effect on his figure.

 

Erik was suddenly very aware of his own condition, sprawled on the bed with an impending morning wood, so he pulled himself up and pulled his knees closer to his chest, his arms resting on top of them. He turned his face slightly towards Charles, who was still looking all confused and worried at Erik, and smiled, a little.

 

Charles sighed at that, his face softening at last. Erik voice croaked when he tried to speak, so he swallowed a bit and tried again. “I – I’m good. I think.” Charles smile grew wider, his cheeks taking a light shade of pink. It took every will in Erik not to just _pounce_ on Charles, there and then, especially since they are both stark naked…

 

Charles smile falters, and the blushes grew wilder, taking a redder shade, before he started to grab at the bed sheet and forcefully pulling it up to cover himself at the waist. “I – I I I'm,“ Charles stuttered. Erik can’t help the little chuckle he let out, clearly amazed at Charles apparent need to cover himself after what had happened last night.

 

“Really, Charles, just now you were showing me you perky little ass, asking me whether they were a sight to see,” Erik said.

 

“Erik! I was talking about the view, not my _ass_!” Chided Charles, the blush still colouring his face, bright. Erik laughed at that, his voice still hoarse and his throat was still dry, but the headache was now manageable at least, and so does his sore body. It took Erik a few seconds to calm down a little. “Nevertheles Charles, rest assured, it was such a _wonderful_ view.”

 

Charles simply grunted, clearly frustrated. His hands tugged at the bed sheet covering, somewhat the scene made Charles appeared 10 years younger, childish even. The silence fell almost immediately after that, the only sound was their breathing and the chirping of the birds from the outside. Erik knew, somewhere at the back of his mind, that whatever happened yesterday, he and Charles would have to discuss about it, and he really hoped that it is sooner rather than later.

 

As if on cues, Charles looked up; his blue eyes were set and determined as they stared straight at Erik’s. When Charles opened his mouth to speak, Erik turned his gaze away, not wanting to know if Charles was uncomfortable with the things that they had done last night, even if Erik swore Charles was the one who started it.

 

“So, last night…” and Charles paused. Erik’s body tensed and Erik forced himself not to look at Charles, instead glaring at the headboard in front of him.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Erik saw Charles straighten his back, untangling his hands from the mess that is the bed sheet, pulling his legs and the bed sheet and hugging them tight to his chest. Erik was sure, the sight might be heartbreaking: Charles never shows his weak side, and that pose screams weakness.

 

“Last night. I take it that - it was an apology? From you?”

 

Surprisingly, Erik had wanted to laugh at that. But then he risked a glance at Charles, and he saw Charles face filled with… _hope_ and _desire_ – his eyes bright, boring into Erik’s, unabated. Once again Erik was dumbfounded at the sight of Charles. Did he really wanted to apologise to Charles? By forcing himself unto Charles?

 

That night, even with the kissing and fumbling, Erik had the very intention glued to his mind: he was going to seek forgiveness from Charles. He really did. He’d known that it would be somewhat a mood-killer to ask for it when they were both burning with lust - even moreso he was slightly inebriated at that moment - but he had thought about asking for it afterwards, in the afterglow of their night together. That he would kissed Charles, slowly and surely, and asked Charles to forgive him, that it was all accidents, a case of sheer bad luck.

 

But then his own hands, troublesome that they were yesterday, had tugged at Charles’ sleeves too hard, and Charles had _winced_ – the sound of it, small as it was, cut like a dagger to Erik’s heart, his heartbeat stuttering all the for wrong reason – and Erik had saw red.

 

Blood rushing to his head, Erik’s mind was going at high-speed, assessing every possible thing that he could afford to do at that moment. Erik had thought that maybe, he could let go of Charles, downright say that he’s sorry, for _everything_ , pleaded even, and then ran out of his room to… well, to anywhere _but_ near Charles.

 

But then his id took over, coming out with another way out. The idea, as presented by id, was simple: make love to Charles, making it entirely _for_ him, pleasurable to the maximum for Charles, and ask for forgiveness at the end – which is actually the same as the earlier plan, but this one, it is entirely _for_ Charles, Erik simply a stepping stone.

 

Which Erik had, and he was glad – to an extend – that his plan was still working, even though it seems like there’s a hitch here and there, and despite the fact that he’s body was reacting to the act all too interested. Because really, Erik didn’t care if he was going to act all martyr with this, as long as Charles understands and forgives him in the end.

 

But eventually, one thing lead to another, and soon Erik was lost in his own head, forgiveness a forgotten issue, his mind and body was solely for Charles. It was a losing battle, from the very beginning, but more so when Charles _pleaded_ Erik to fuck him.

 

Erik couldn’t say no to that, he wouldn’t dare to.

 

Erik sighed, heavily, feeling his shoulder drop, his neck suddenly felt tired, tired of holding his head up high, tired of looking, tired of being coiled up and tensed all the moment. He let go of his knees, and turned himself towards Charles, sitting with his legs folded underneath him, and his hands resting on top of Charles on his knees.

 

Erik stared into Charles’ eyes, blue and alive, questioning and inquiring and _hoping_ , and felt like last night, like he can get lost in those blue gems and forget everything - every courage that he had mustered, every bit of planning that he had made, that he had sworn to do - all going down the drain. Erik squeezed Charles’ hands, and when he felt Charles turning his hands and took hold of Erik’s, Erik casted his eyes towards their linked hand. Somehow, the image gave him that last push, that last bit of courage, filling him up, wanting this all to end – in a very good term, of course.

 

“Last night – I,“ Erik frowned, his mind tumbling and grasping at words, “yes, last night, was an apology. Though it was not one that I had planned. Not entirely, at least/ You… well, you deserved better, Charles. I shouldn’t have treated you that way, especially not after – not after what I have done to you. What I may have done to you.” Erik braced himself, and forced his eyes to wander back to Charles, to see what reaction Charles would take, what Charles would feel when this thing is finally said out loud, not only a guess, no more just an idea.

 

And Erik stuttered. Whatever he had thought Charles’ reaction would be, it not this – anger, maybe, pain or sorrow or morose or maybe even indifference – but not _joy_ and, and _happiness_? Why would Charles be happy? Because he had finally asked for forgiveness, is that it? Is it…

 

Charles shushed him, slowly, comforting, placing his index finger on Erik’s lips, his eyes searching for something in Erik’s. He must have found it, because then Charles smiled, wide and warm, tracing Erik’s lower lip with his finger. “I think I’ve heard enough,” Charles chimed in, eyes now following his finger as it traced idly on Erik’s lips.

 

And just like that, Erik felt something being lifted up from his body, from his mind, and he was suddenly lighter, both in body and mind. Erik smiled, a hoarse laugh coming suddenly from his mouth, joined by Charles, before he closed the distance between their faces and kissed Charles soundly on the lips, inhaling the morning air that was filled with Charles.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

It took them hours to get out of Erik’s room – what with Charles’ need to conserve water.

 

(“Really, Erik, what’s wrong with sharing a shower, we already shared a very private moment last night,” argued Charles. “There’s something off,” replied Erik, “I just can’t really point my finger at it. Yet,” to which Charles laughed, and kissed Erik roughly while the hot water ran over them both.)

 

When they finally reached the kitchen, both freshly showered and both looking every bit debauched, all the other teenagers were already there, eating and trying really hard to ignore them.

 

Except for Raven, of course.

 

And Sean, who raised his eyebrow at Erik and gave a thumbs-up at Charles.

 

There was no commotion, or rather, it was a controlled commotion, if there is such a thing, and Charles was so proud of the control that Raven displayed that morning.

 

(“I see you care less about what I say, Charles”

 

“Oh, Raven, you know I value highly each and every words, from each _and_ every one of you.”

 

Raven simply turned her glare towards Erik, both raising a single, challenging eyebrow at one another, before she looked down at her coffee, sighing, “I see.”)

 

The rest of the morning was uneventful, though Hank did come and tried to change Charles’ bandage, a task that Erik rather forcefully took hold of, forcing a much surprised and scared Hank to speed off from the reading room. Charles can’t really wipe the smile that came across his face at that, much to Raven’s disapproval.

 

Charles and Erik spent the rest of the uneventful day doing absolutely nothing, Erik reading his old-battered paperback and Charles reviewing some of his plans for their trainings. At some point, Charles looked up from his scrawling on a piece of paper, to see that Erik was eyeing him across the room, a small smile tugging both of their mouths.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

None of them speak of what had happened, although it had only happened days before. Charles’s wrist had fully recovered, only a hint of scar left behind, a reminder.

 

But Charles never spoke of it, and if anything, he was more than happy to be spending time with Erik. In fact, Charles had made a point to spend each night either on Erik’s bed or dragging Erik back to his own room. Which, Erik’s approve, undeniably.

 

 

 

 

**********

 

 

 

 

It had only been – what, four days? – since that day, but lately, Erik fall asleep almost dreamless. Though a few of the time, he did remembered having that dream, the field of golden daffodil, of warm orange sky, of blue eyes and soothing voice.

 

Each and every time, he woke up after the voice had spoken up. And each and every time, Charles was right there, smiling and kissing him good morning. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**THE END**

 

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in writing lust-filled, unadulterated passion, love-making scene with me? 
> 
> Just saying.


End file.
